


Dead Drop

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Dominance, Domme Ginny Weasley, Dumbledore's Army, F/F, F/M, Femslash, Het, Het and Slash, Horcrux Hunting, Implied Foursome - F/F/M/M, M/M, Mild Kink, Minor Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Oral Sex, Poly Quad, Polyamory, Post-Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Power Play, Slash, Spy Harry Potter, Spy Neville Longbottom, Spy Susan Bones, Spycraft, Spymaster Ginny Weasley, Submission, Switch Harry Potter, Switching, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings, cloak and dagger, plotty smut, proxy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24337327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: Dead Drop—n :a drop used for the clandestine exchange of intelligence information; "a dead drop avoids the need for a handler and a spy to be present at the same time"
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom/Harry Potter, Susan Bones/Ginny Weasley, Susan Bones/Harry Potter, Susan Bones/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. Dead Drop

**Author's Note:**

> This is a bit of a departure for me—a bit darker, and more involved with powerplay. Don’t know where it came from, other than a stretch where I was a rabid reader of John le Carré novels a few years back. ;-)
> 
> In any case, I hope you enjoy the change of pace.
> 
> Thanks to aberforths_rug for the beta, the humor and the patience.

His breath fogging his glasses, Harry does one more sweep of the area, making sure that his wards are solid and that the area under the bridge is as clear as it looks.

He knows Ginny got the coded message that he left at the dead drop: a niche in the baptismal font at St Catchpole's. Hermione-properly disguised-checked it yesterday and had found Ginny's terse, coded confirmation in place.

So all that Harry can do is wait.

And smile. It took Hermione all but stripping and throwing herself on Ron right there in the Grimmauld Place foyer to keep Ginny's brother from accompanying Harry. He'd have to thank her later. Though Harry is fairly certain Ron will have thanked her enough for both of them, and that Hermione herself probably isn't making much of a sacrifice.

Harry looks at his watch. Half one. It's time.

This is the fifth meet they've set up since they both realized how important it was that they keep in touch-that Ginny can act as a conduit for information for Harry and his friends, passing research queries back to the Order and to the reconstituted DA at school, and passing replies and personal messages back.

And that they would be able to see each other. Safely. Relatively.

The first time that they'd rendezvoused in an orchard a short broom flight from the Burrow, Ginny handed him a thick packet of letters (and a couple of books for Hermione), they exchanged a few pleasantries... and then they exploded into each other. Harry found himself doing something with Ginny that he'd only dreamed of doing-thrusting into her while she moaned Harry's name in his ear.

Harry hadn't intended for his first time with Ginny to be against a tree. But neither of them minded.

Since then, he's come better prepared.

A golden glamour flashes on the ground where he has laid out his cloak. The Portkey has been activated at the other end. Harry's breath catches.

A quick glance up and down the Embankment. No one. Muggle-repelling charms in place. Anti-Apparition wards up and tested. The Thames flowing silently by. As many silencing charms as he can manage in open space. Muffliato. Warming spells. Anti-fertilization field. A scent of roses.

A figure stumbling on the pavement. Harry's wand flashes up. Black hair back in a single plait. Taller-nearly Harry's height. Curvier than Ginny.

Susan Bones.

Harry's wand holds steady.

“Hi, Harry,” Susan murmurs tremulously, eyes focused on the wand tip. “Um, Ginny told me to tell you that, um, Horntails are more macho.”

It's become a sort of password between him and Ginny. He lowers his wand. “What's happened?”

“Nothing terrible. The Ministry has the Burrow under extra surveillance while she's home for the Easter holiday. Searching everyone in and out. Following Ginny everywhere she goes. Luna and Neville too. For the their own protection, the Minister says. So she Floo'd over to my house and, um, passed along some things for me to, um, pass along to you.”

Harry nods, disappointment slowly seeping like cold into his bones. “Did she give you any letters?” Hermione added a charm that made it so that even post owls can't find number twelve. Poor Hedwig can't even go out hunting unless Harry lets her back into the house.

Susan shakes her head. “No, nothing like that; they searched her, remember? She told me to tell you some things. Let me remember.” Susan closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath to steady herself, and Harry feels horrible that he notices that her nipples are visible against her jumper.

The fact is that it is Ginny's nipples that he wants to be seeing now, and not covered in wool. He doesn't mean to stare at his friend's breasts, but they're right there and he's... “Susan, can I say something, first?”

She blinks her eyes open-dark brown irises, pupils wide. “What is it, Harry?”

“I... I feel like I didn't ever tell you last year how sorry I was about your aunt Amelia. I met her once. She seemed like an amazing lady.”

Her cupid's-bow mouth turns down slightly. “Oh. Thank you, Harry. Yes. She lived not far from here, actually.” She reaches out and touches his shoulder very lightly. “You did say, you know, at the Welcoming Feast-but you seemed rather distracted at the time. And without the DA meeting all last year...”

“Yeah,” Harry says with a nod. “Yeah. I didn't see much of anyone outside of Gryffindor last year.”

Susan smiles. “Excepting Luna, of course. I wonder if she knows how many hearts she shattered last Christmas.”

“What, for Slughorn's party? Susan, Luna's just a friend of mine, you know that!”

The smile broadens to a grin. She's very pretty when she smiles, Harry realizes. Susan Bones is usually so somber. “Well, of course _I_ know that, Harry. She's told me herself. But at the time it was the great scandal of the season. All the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff girls-and even a few of the Slytherins-were beside themselves that you'd chosen a Ravenclaw, and the Ravenclaws were furious that you'd chosen _her_.”

Smirking, Harry squints at Susan. “And what about you? Were _you_ upset with me?”

“Well,” she answers, “maybe a little. More envious than upset, I think.” A slight blush darkens her cheeks and she rushes on. “It's been nice to get to know her better this year. She really is quite nice, beneath all of the eccentricity, and she and Ginny and Neville have done a wonderful job of mobilizing and training the DA.”

 _Wish I could be there,_ Harry thinks, _rather than creeping around, crawling around in caves and ruins trying to track down and destroy the last bits of Tom Riddle's twisted little soul_. “It's going well, then?”

Susan nods, her face as solemn as Harry is used to seeing it. “Wonderfully. We've got almost a third of the school involved at this point-even a number of the Slytherins. Would it make _you_ jealous if I told you that Luna's been seeing a bit of Theo Nott?”

Shaking his head, Harry frowns. “No. Luna's tastes are always surprising, but if she thinks he's worth getting to know, I'm sure he must be interesting. As long as there aren't any boys bothering Ginny...” Bothering Ginny. That's what Harry wants to be doing. Bothering her breasts with his lips. Bothering her clit with his fingers. Fucking her till--

“No,” Susan says brightly. “No boys bothering Ginny. They wouldn't dare.” Smoothing her jumper, she goes on, “Ginny told me to tell you that Bill had some ideas about Uncursing the cup you asked about and you should look in your vault, whatever that means. That Fred and George got your order and will resupply you-they can arrange to have several boxes lie unguarded at the usual place next Tuesday, and they refuse to take your gold. That Neville can have some Stinksap for you, but you need to tell him whether you want it raw, or if you want him to neutralize it. Tonks has heard from _Professor Lupin_ and he's okay. There's three of _Mrs. Weasley's_ Easter eggs and a pile of letters that she'll put in the first drop on Monday night. That's what she said: the first drop.”

That would be the one in the dovecote on the roof of Honeyduke's. “Thanks, Susan, that's really-“

“Wait, Harry.” Susan looks down and smoothes her jumper again. “She told me to tell you that she loves you like crazy. And she... She gave me something to give you.”

“She...?” Harry goggles at the tall, moon-faced girl. “I thought you said she was searched?”

Susan nods, peers up into Harry's eyes, and presses her lips to his.

Of all of the things that Harry expected Susan Bones to do, kissing him wasn't one of them. He stands there, shocked, his hands as far from her curvy body as he can manage, but he can't quite convince himself to tear his lips from hers.

Finally, she breaks off and gazes up at him intently again.

Harry stands there, arms spread wide, heart pounding. “Ginny... Ginny told you to give me _that_?”

Susan shakes her head. “No, Harry. I told you. She _gave_ it to me to give you.” Face flushed, eyes wide, nipples pressing against Harry's chest like the barrels of small twin pistols.

“Oh.” The image is clear in Harry's mind, and it is doing very, very funny things to his body. “D-did she give you anything else? To give me?”

Susan nods nervously. With one hand she urges Harry's mouth back to hers. The other hand slides down Harry's chest and the front of his trousers.

Harry's cock, which was uncertain before which direction to head in, now makes up its mind. Susan's soft fingers stroke down the length of his suddenly hard penis and circle his balls. It's a caress that Ginny knows Harry likes. But he cannot help but wonder how Ginny demonstrated it. Small, lithe fingers dancing beneath a soft, woolen skirt. Clever, fleshy fingers tug at his zipper.

Harry presses his hand over Susan's, stopping her. Almost making himself explode at the additional pressure. “My cloak. I charmed it to be soft and warm. I think-“

She's already sitting, tugging him down by his fly.

“Wait.” Harry knows that if he joins her on the cloak it will be too late. “Susan, are you sure about this?”

Again she grins, and this grin is not just pretty, it's feral and heart-stopping. “I promised Ginny. And you know us Hufflepuffs. Trustworthy and loyal.” She yanks his zipper the rest of the way down and begins to reach inside.

Again Harry closes his hand over hers, and this time it is only his boxers between her flesh and his. “And... This is really okay with Ginny?”

Suddenly the predatory glint fades from Susan's eyes, though she's nodding. “She thought you'd enjoy it. I'd hoped so too, to be honest, but if you'd rather not...” Her fingers begin to slide out from under Harry's but he grips them in place against his erection. A sound bubbles through her lips-lips that Harry now knows to be full and soft; it's halfway between a giggle and a sigh and it makes Harry groan in response. “I guess you would,” she says. “Do you want to sit, Harry?”

He falls to his knees before he's even thought to answer and she laughs. Fumbling with his boxers again, she presses the elastic waistband downward, exposing Harry's overheated skin to the night air and he is too overcome by the sensation to mumble that she might as easily have reached through the hole in the front. He kneels there, the warmth from the spell that he cast on the cloak flowing up through his knees while the heat from her fingers closes around his cock.

Other than himself, only Ginny has ever touched Harry there before, and like Harry, Ginny's fingers are long and thin. Not Susan's, no. Hers could never be described as plump, but like the rest of her they are ample and _smooth_ , and the feeling of them closing around his urgency feels excruciatingly good.

Her face earnest and intent, she gazes at his cock as if it may explode on her-which, come to think on it, it very well may. Tentatively, she begins to stroke the upper part of his shaft very lightly. “It's amazing that something so soft and lovely can feel so hard and... and dangerous,” she sighs.

Harry's legs twitch. He rolls down onto the cloak, careful not to pull away from her gentle hand.

Stroking him more confidently, she stretches out next to him, her breasts pressing against Harry's arm as her hand twists and slides over his cock. “Does that feel good? Ginny said the top part is more sensitive than the base, is that right?”

Again, it is all Harry can do to groan.

She grins back. “Oh. Good. Oh! Wait...” Without slowing her rhythm, she reaches up under her jumper with her free hand, exposing her belly and the bottom of her white cotton bra. From between her breasts she pulls a small packet of green silk.

“Ginny's knickers,” Susan says, smiling at the recognition in Harry's eyes, at the flaring of his nostrils. He can smell the faint, familiar tang of Ginny. Barely stopping in her motion, she drapes the silk around his cock, stroking him through it. “I'm on them too, Harry. Remember. She gave this to me to give to you.”

Harry's balls pulse as her hand slides along his silk-encased length. Long strokes now, not just the upper half, and he can feel the beginning of a familiar buzz in the area above his testicles. “S-susan? Can I... touch _you_?”

She nods emphatically, her hand continuing to move up and down along his cock. He runs his hand, trembling, up her bare belly to where the bottom of her bra is still revealed, and slips it further up, under the jumper, pulling down on the bra to free first one round, pink breast, and then the other. Nothing like Ginny's-these are firm but fluffy, and the nipples stick straight out, proud and thick. Harry pinches at them and Susan's eyes close even as her head falls back and her mouth opens, releasing a low, hungry sound that gives a voice to the feeling that is building up inside of Harry.

Susan's hand grips him more firmly and rubs away, squeezing and twisting Harry's swelling cock through the thin silk and Harry feels an explosion building up deep behind his navel and his head falls back and he howls, arching back as he detonates in her hand.

He knows that he shouldn't feel this way with any one but Ginny.

In a way it _is_ Ginny who has given him this, and he thanks her, even as his cock pulses again and again in Susan's coaxing hand. One final shuddering pulse ends the orgasm. Harry collapses beside her, his hands still caressing her breasts, teasing her stiff nipples.

Susan's hands tremble as they unwrap the soaked knickers from Harry's penis. They are _dripping with_ his come. The knickers. Susan's hands. “I promised I'd bring these back to Ginny,” she says, voice high and quiet. She starts to lick her hand clean, but Harry reaches up and takes her wrist.

“Are you going to see her again soon?” he finds himself asking.

“I'm Flooing to the Burrow tomorrow.”

Gently, Harry moves Susan's hand down to her own breast and paints the nipple with his come-steam is rising from it into the April midnight. He leans forward and takes her other nipple into his mouth; she gasps. “Susan, will you leave it there and let her taste it? Let her clean it off of you?” He looks up at her, even as he nibbles gently on her breast.

She nods. The scent of her arousal wafts up and greets Harry's nose, overpowering the rose smell that Harry had enchanted into the area around his cloak.

He wants to return the favor. Wants to give her pleasure for pleasure. But he knows that they are only doing this because of a very specific agreement between them-between himself, Ginny and Susan.

She is squeezing her thighs together and rocking her hips.

Kissing her breast again, Harry runs a hand back over her belly and under her skirt. She is soaking through _her_ heavy wool tights _._ “Susan, can I give something to you? For Ginny _?”  
_

Her eyes go wide and she nods again, then hisses when Harry's fingers begin to stroke along her vulva.

Harry keeps rubbing as he kisses his way down past her bare belly and the navy blue skirt that is bunching up over her hips. While her bra may have been white, the tights can't conceal the red lace that Susan is wearing over her bottom-most unexpected. Harry grips the crotch of the tights and rends them, revealing the damp-darkened _satin_ below. Pulling her thighs over his shoulders and nudging the knickers to one side, he says, “If I give this to you, Susan, can you give it to Ginny, just this way?”

“Oh, Harry, yes...” she pants.

He can imagine that cupid's-bow mouth closed around Ginny's tart, taut nub, and his heart expands. Susan moans deeply, her hands pulling at her round breasts. Transported as she is by pleasure, he knows that she is paying attention. Harry's tongue teaches her just what she is to do.

 _I love you, Ginny,_ Harry's mouth says, and Susan's body responds.


	2. Handler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Handler_ — n :** the intelligence officer responsible to brief and debrief a field operative. "A handler is usually the spy or courier's only contact within the organization."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay--remember how I said that the first chapter of Dead Drop had taken me off in directions I usually don't wander?
> 
> That was nothing compared to this one! XD
> 
> Warnings: Proxy sex. Cloak and dagger. Femslash, mild BDSM and D/s power-play. Nothing extreme, but still, not my kinks at all. XD
> 
> Thanks to aberforths_rug for the beta, and for having the patience and forbearance to meander through the minds of two very interesting teenage girls with me.

> **_Handler_ — n :** the intelligence officer responsible to brief and debrief a field operative. "A handler is usually the spy or courier's only contact within the organization."

_Two cases of Peruvian Darkness Powder and one of Dragon Bombs, a Disillusionment Charm cast on them and left in an unlocked cupboard at the back of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes... Luna and Nott--his House Elf's brother at Malfoy Manor said Draco's bed has been made.... Would Luna look any different having sex or would she have the same....? Bill suggested an Ankh Ritual for the Nosferatu Curse on Hufflepuff's cup but maybe a Patronus...? Harry's stag. Susan. Harry's tongue. In Susan's.... Harry's hand up my top and the other down my...  
_

CRASH

“Ginevra Molly Weasley,” snaps her mother, “enough! That's the third plate you've dropped. You've been fidgeting since the morning. If you're not going to tell me what's got you so jumpy, then I'm going to assume you're sick. Up to your room. You're not too old for a nap.”

“ _But_...!” Ginny begins, gesticulating with the two pieces of the butter dish that she's just broken. Dawlish looks up from the table where he has been slurping at some of Molly Weasley's famous dragontail soup. Sighing, Ginny dumps the shards in the sink and shuffles towards the stairs; Scrimgeour's Auror returns to paying attention to his lunch. “If Luna or Neville or... or Susan firecall, let me know, all right? And if... someone comes to visit, ” she says, trying to keep her voice even, trying not to attract Dawlish's attention again, “could you send her--or him--up to my room? I doubt I'll sleep. I'll be revising.”

Ginny's mother favors her with a sharp, amused expression. “All right, Ginny. If someone visits I'll send her--or _him_ \--up to your room.”

As Ginny stumbles up the stairs to her room, she finds herself grinning. Perhaps this is for the best. As the day has worn on closer to two o'clock, when Susan said she would try to Floo over, Ginny has felt her middle fluttering just as if it were Harry that she were waiting for, has felt her knickers moistening and her nipples buzzing.

Perhaps it is just as well that she isn't under her mother's eye.

Leaning against her door, Ginny surveys her room; it still looks as it did when she was eleven. All pink and purple and white. Frills. Stuffed dragons that Charlie gave her piled at the foot of the bed.

On the bookshelf, the Snitch from the last Ravenclaw game. Not _exactly_ the same as when she left for Hogwarts. Three vials of Pennyroyal Potion in her sock drawer to make sure she doesn't get pregnant. Inside her stuffed Unicorn, the Muggle vibrator that Hermione gave Ginny for her last birthday. (Thank goodness for her father's collection of batteries.) And plans and letters from Harry transformed into the form of a scrapbook in her desk drawer. It's probably a good thing, as well, that Dawlish and the other Aurors who have been attached to the Burrow are too squeamish to search a girl's room too closely. Ginny wonders which items would upset them more: sex toys or secret documents?

Sleet beats against her window. Was it frigid last night when Susan met him? Ginny imagines the chill of the icy night air on her own nipples, the rough, cold rasp of Harry's fingers against her clit....

Did Harry go along with her game? Did Susan go through with it? Ginny's sweet, serious friend was so nervous, her nipples emphatic against Ginny's own small, aroused chest. Her chin trembling when Ginny kissed her. Kissed Harry through her. Her scent rich and exotic as Ginny rubbed her twitchy through Ginny's own tiny silk knickers.

Did she _do_ it?

Did she _do_ him?

And Harry? Did he go for it? Did he play along?

Imagining Susan's full lips on Harry's thin ones, imagining Susan's soft, smooth fingers rubbing his wonderful cock to explosion, black hair from two heads spilling together, Harry kissing her back, his hands on those big, full breasts, thrusting up between those white, full thighs, fucking, her tang mixing with the sour scent of his come, that throaty yell of Harry's as he fucked her, yelling her name... _Whose name? Fucking bastard, did her fuck her? Fucking cunt of a friend, Susan fucking, her legs hooked over Harry's, squeaking when she came. Did he bend her over the railing of the Embankment, big breasts bouncing over the Thames, his cock thrusting into her round bottom...?  
_

Ginny's fingers dip under her jeans. Is she jealous? Her body doesn't seem to care. As she flops back on her bed, Ginny feels her cunt flower open as her index finger begins to flick across her clit.

Ginny loves Harry. Ginny trusts Harry. Susan is a good friend. Ginny trusts Susan. Susan has done what Ginny told her to do. Susan's small, full lips closing around the dark red head of Harry's cock....

_Ohhhhhh_...

Ginny's hips begin to lift and rock against her hand.

A quiet knock causes Ginny to bite back the moan that is beginning to bubble up from her depths. She whips her hand out of her pants and wipes it furtively on her frilly pink-and-purple quilt. “Come in,” she calls, sitting up in what she hopes is a nonchalant manner on the bed.

Susan slips through the door, wearing very conservative black robes and a nervous smile. “Hey, Ginny. Your mum said to come on up. I think she was disappointed that I wasn't Harry.” Pink circles blossom on the older girl's cheeks.

Susan is about to speak, but Ginny extends her hand (not the sticky one--the advantages of ambidexterity); Susan takes it and they execute a quick, deft, unique handshake. Ginny has a different handshake with each of the senior DA members. It's easy enough to plunder memories or hair; it's harder to _move_ like someone else. No need for a handshake with Harry, of course.

Susan drops Ginny's hand, begins to fiddle with her robes.

_Dawlish?_ Ginny mouths.

Susan rolls her eyes and points down stairs; she has made sure she wasn't followed. _Good on you, Susan_.

“So?” Ginny whispers, partially because she doesn't want to be overheard, but--to be honest--mostly because she's too excited to trust her full voice. Even years of brazening it out to her mum haven't prepared Ginny to stay calm in this moment. “Did he?” she asks as matter-of-factly as she can.

The pink circles spread, and Susan's face flames a full Weasley red; a giggle bubbles up from her chest, breasts bouncing, a hand flying over her mouth.

Ginny lets out a long sigh. Merlin, he _did_ it. He took Ginny's gift. Susan's gift. Merlin.

Ginny finds her arms circling around Susan's neck. Finds her lips finding Susan's smooth cheek. “Thank you, Susan. Thank you.” Her mouth next, Ginny finds: soft, wet, surprised.

The other girl pulls back and Ginny suddenly feels an unfamiliar flutter of uncertainty--has she gone too far? She knows her own excitement from before Susan's arrival carried her away. She looks up into the taller girl's dark-on-dark eyes.

Susan is flushed, her mouth open. But smiling still. Pursing her lips, she draws her wand from her sleeve, and casts a wordless Imperturbable Charm on Ginny's door.

The two girls stare at each other for a moment. Susan continues to blush, and Ginny grins, thinking how nice it is to see someone _else_ respond to her boyfriend this way. Then, crossing her arms and stepping back into her role as the head of the DA, Ginny growls, “So, Susan. Come on. What's your report? Did the drop go well?” _Susan's hand on Harry's... The dovecote over Honeydukes.  
_

For a moment, Susan's face shines so brightly that she can't speak. Her eyes are bright too, and so Ginny waits, as patiently as she can. _Should work on Disillusionment Charms in the DA next... Apple blossoms like snow on black hair, my back_ **hard** _against the tree. Harry_ **HARD** _against... Disillusionment Charms.  
_

One of Susan's hands flutters up to her throat and she finally manages to take a deep breath and nod. “It went, um, _very_ well.”

Ginny bites her lip to keep from screaming. “So? _Report_!”

The shy smile broadens. So pretty. “I... I made sure the DA coin was warm before I took the Portkey; he'd secured the area. When I got there, I gave him the password--I suppose I should have asked him for a countersign, but, um...”

“It's okay.” Harry is Harry.

Susan shrugs. “He was so... He was really disappointed when he saw me. And I felt... But I gave him all of the messages, and he said that he understood them.”

“Did he give any responses?” _Two cases of Peruvian...  
_

Susan nods, twisting her fingers. Nervous? Excited? “Later. Um. He told me some things after. Do you want...?”

Biting back her own impatience, Ginny grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, what did he say?”

Susan looks up and takes a deep breath, and Ginny finds herself transfixed by the other girl's bust. _It's no fair._ “Um, he said he'd check his vault, that they'd pick up the delivery in Diagon Alley, that he was fairly certain Hermione needs the Stinksap raw--which sounds _sooo..._ ” Susan stifles a giggle. “Um, sorry. He said he'd check the, um, first drop, and that he was glad to hear about Professor Lupin. Oh, and that he'll check the first drop. Did I say that already?”

Ginny shrugs. The substance of her report is done now, Ginny can tell. Color is washing back over her friend's cheeks. “Any other DA-related messages? Good.” Ginny's tummy flutters. “And?”

Standing tall, Susan grins down at Ginny. “And I gave him... what you gave me.”

Again, Ginny feels her center dampen and open. “Oh.”

Susan nods and her lips purse uncertainly.

“Go on, Susan. I want to know.”

“Ginny,” Susan says, “I... He really had _no_ idea. And then I kissed him, and, um, Ginny, Merlin, you were right, he is _such_ a good kisser, but he was so surprised, but when I started to, um, touch him, he really wasn't sure but I think he was so _excited_ that when I took down his zipper he decided to just, um, trust me, and your knickers and, oh, it was _so exciting_!”

“Hmmm,” Ginny responds, her stomach clenching, her clit calling for her touch; she grips her biceps to keep her hands out of her own trousers. “Did he say?--”

“Your name, Ginny. When he came. He did.” Susan nods as she says this, eyes wide and sincere. So sweet. “And then, um, Ginny...”

A thick weight settles in Ginny's middle. He _did_ fuck her. He must have. “What, Susan?”

“Um, well, he gave _me_ something to give _you_.”

Dubious, scowling, Ginny simply waits.

Susan starts to speak, but nervousness closes her throat again. Fingers fluttering, she unfastens the front of her robes and drops them to the floor.

She is naked beneath except for her white cotton bra and Ginny's undersized emerald knickers, white soft flesh glowing in the dim light of the storm-dark window. A strong scent of sex--of Harry and sex--wafts off of her soft, ample body. Her hands, still trembling, reach back and loose the clasp on her bra and drop it atop her robes. Then, giving a smile that Ginny wouldn't have thought her shy friend capable of, she licks a fingertip, strokes her right nipple with it, and holds the finger out. “T-taste it,” Susan says.

_Ohhhh._ It is Harry. Harry's taste. Harry's come. Ginny sucks at the finger and then, when the flavor is gone before her hunger is sated, she leans down to Susan's breast and licks away at the smooth curve of it, the taste of _Harry_ thick and bitter on the underside, on the bumps of her areola. Without thinking, Ginny sucks Susan's nipple between her lips, devouring the faintest bit of Harry's flavor. Susan moans, her voice low, and her body twists.

Another scent tickles at Ginny's senses: Susan's scent and, more subtly, Ginny's own, more familiar one, which is blooming from her own crotch and from the silk between Susan's legs. Her mouth still planted on the quivering breast, Ginny maneuvers Susan back against the frilly bed and pushes her down.

When Ginny diddled Susan yesterday, she squeaked that no one had ever touched her that way before. At Hogwarts, she has listened, eyes bright, when Ginny and Luna discuss their affairs, when they compare notes and techniques. Not surprisingly, Luna has some remarkably original ideas when it comes to giving and receiving pleasure, but she and Nott are barely past the hand-up-the-skirt stage as yet, and so even though Ginny was a virgin as recently as this past summer, and has only managed four actual liaisons with her boyfriend, she has somehow become the erotic expert in their group.

Susan's bosom heaves--when Ginny read that in her mum's silly bodice-rippers, it always made her laugh, but there they are, heaving bosoms, and they are quite remarkable. One still bears the signs of Ginny's own recent nibbles. The other....

Those must be Harry's marks.

Ginny leans over her friend--Susan peers up at her, open-eyed, open-mouthed. Ginny licks and tastes at those lovely, heaving bosoms, but no--no more taste of Harry there, just the marks left by his lips and teeth the night before.

Harry's scent--and Susan's, and Ginny's--drifts up from the knickers. As Ginny kisses her way down her friend's belly, Susan's soft thighs part and she whimpers: “But...”

Playfully, Ginny slaps Susan's hip, encouraging silence. The older girl gasps, but it is followed by a deeper moan; Susan's skin comes over gooseflesh, and her nipples harden again. Fascinating.

Eyes wide, Susan stares down between her thighs and bites her lip. “Um, Ginny...”

“What?” Ginny asks. Susan's eyes widen even further. What is she thinking? What was that moan about?

“Ginny, that... _Oh..._ ” The entire soft body before Ginny is turning bright pink. Embarassed and flustered as she seems to be, Susan nonetheless seems more aroused than ever. “Um... _Ginny...._ ” whinges the older girl.

Curious, Ginny spanks her again, and Susan's response is even more emphatically erotic. Fascinating, fascinating. What is she playing at? “Why are you interrupting me, Bones? Do I have to show you how a proper debriefing should be done?”

“Um. _Please_ ,” Susan whinges, her chin once again quivering, her eyes wide--but her wet heat is flowing against Ginny's chest.

_Oh, my._ Luna likes to spin tales about binding Teddy Nott's hands with his Slytherin tie before she diddles him--and then letting him do the same to her. But _this_... “Then let me have the rest of Harry's come. Where is it? _Tell me_ , Susan, where is it?” Part of Ginny feels ridiculous playing at this, but Susan is clearly transported; the sight of her arousal is arousing. When Susan can't speak, Ginny once again gives her hip a hard smack.

“Ah!” Susan gasps. When Ginny raises her hand again, the other girl's voice finally returns, high and timid. “It's... he left it on... the... Um... On the kn-knickers!” Susan peers down between those heavy, heaving breasts, her eyes pleading--for what, Ginny isn't quite sure.

Ginny leans back and smiles. This is like playing one of the twins' silly games--once you know the rules you simply have to play along. “On _my_ knickers?” she says, trying to sound gruff, but knowing she's only partially successful. “Did Harry come all over the knickers that I rubbed you silly through? All over the knickers that you got all wet?”

Biting her lip, Susan nodded.

“Are you getting them all wet again, Susan?”

Susan nods again and smiles tentatively, a blush washing over her whole upper body. She spreads her thighs, displaying the green silk--Mum would _never_ let Ginny wear something like that, have to keep them hidden away. The pants are tiny on Ginny--they're far too small for Susan, and as she's become excited, the crotch has ridden up between her blooming labia.

Ginny leans down and kisses the silk, knowing she is kissing Susan's nub through them.

Susan lets out a small cry and her tummy trembles--has she come already? Ginny kisses the pants again, and Susan groans, thrusting her pelvis up to meet Ginny's mouth.

The scent is heady: Susan's own aroma, with just a tinge left of Ginny's, and Harry's come, the unmistakable, dear... “I love the taste of Harry's come. Don't you, Susan?”

“YESSS!” Susan cries, and Ginny grins, moving her lips over the knickers, feeling Susan's softhard flesh beneath. “Oh, Merlin, Ginny, yes, he tastes _soooo_...”

A spasm of jealousy, and Ginny smacks her friend's thigh _hard_.

“OHH!”

“Did your orders include sucking him off, Susan? Did your orders include taking his come anywhere inside of you?” Ginny launches herself up her friend's length, grabbing her wrists, staring her in the astonished face. “Did he come in your mouth, Susan? Or in your cunt? Or up your lovely, round arse? _Did you make him come inside of you_?”

“N-n-no!” Susan gasps, her breath hot on Ginny's chin; she looks mortified, but her pelvis thrusts up against Ginny's thighs. “I b-brought him off with m-my hand, j-just the way you told me, I promise...”

Ginny presses her weight--such as it is--down on Susan's squirming form. “But?”

Susan goes very still. “W-when he came, there was so _much_ , Ginny, I never knew, and it was dripping off of my hand, and I...” Her face is small and squeamish, frightened and apologetic. Her nipples like wand-points against Ginny's own chest.

“You tasted it?” _What's the fuss?_ Ginny finds herself thinking. What Ginny wants right now is the bloody knickers. Well, what she _really_ wants is Harry tied up and naked, but... _So she got a good taste of Harry's spunk, so bloody what?_ But Susan _wants_ to play this game, and without Susan, Ginny wouldn't even have a _taste_ of Harry, and her scent is intoxicating, and the feeling of her body simmering beneath Ginny's is heady.... When Ginny and Harry make love, they don't pay a whole lot of attention to who's on top, or who's in front, or who's in charge. Susan clearly wishes Ginny to be in _command_ , however, and so play the game they will. “Tell me, Susan: did you taste Harry's come?”

Susan nods. “J-just a lick. And then he sp-spread it all over my b-breast, _just for you_ , he told me, for you to taste, Ginny. I... I'm _so_ sorry...” Though her face is a mask of repentance, Susan's body is alive, her crotch grinding, her bountiful chest pressing insistently against Ginny's. It's almost as if Susan is responding in spite of herself. _Does she have any idea...?  
_

“I see,” Ginny says, disengaging her body from her friend's and standing up. “Susan, this is _my_ operation. _I_ am in charge; I'm responsible for you and for all of the other members of the Army. I expect a member of the DA--a _senior operative_ of the DA--to have a certain level of discipline. Now how can I ensure that I can trust you if another mission comes up?”

Susan's face screws up, and Ginny can see that she's truly worried--has she really failed Ginny somehow? To let her know that this is still a game, Ginny softens her scowl a bit, then bends her knee and brushes it against Susan's vulva. Dark brown eyes cross at the sensation and a brief smile passes over Susan's lips; Ginny finds her own mouth mirroring it. “M-maybe,” Susan says, “maybe if you t-taught me a lesson...”

Before Ginny can spend too much energy wondering just what Susan has in mind, the Hufflepuff makes it quite clear, rolling over onto her hands and knees, presenting her white bum to Ginny; the silk, marked pale with come stains, stained dark with Susan's humidity, barely covers her cheeks. Fascinating.

According to Dean, Seamus loves to be spanked. How Dean found that out, Ginny really doesn't want to know. There's some story about Hannah and Parvati, a game of Truth or Dare and a lot of firewhisky, and that is about as much as Ginny was willing to listen to. But according to Dean every time meek little Hannah passed Seamus by in the hallways for weeks after, all she had to do was swat him lightly on the arm and Finnegan would bend double, hard as iron. That was just before poor Hannah's folks died last year. Staring at Susan's wriggling bottom, Ginny considers. Tamps down a light-headed feeling that may be panic, or may be exultation. “I think ten will do.”

Susan squeaks, but manages to gasp, “Y-yes, Ginny!”

Feeling silly and yet strangely excited, Ginny leans in and gives Susan an open-handed smack, and Susan hisses. The red imprint of her hand shows bright against Susan's pale bum. A swat at the other side, and this time Ginny's fingertips stray accidentally along the silk and a deep moan joins Susan's whimper.

_Would Harry like to...? Or like to be....? Line up the DA on hands and knees. Nott would never take it, that's for sure, and Luna would probably think it was very interesting, but a Beater's bat to Romilda...  
_

_No. I'm not Tom.  
_

Eight more swats, and with each Ginny's hand strays further over Susan's labia, and lingers longer there, until at the tenth, Ginny calls out that they're done, slides her fingers along the crotch of the pants, and gives Susan's clit a good squeeze. Susan--shy, demure Susan--arches her back and looses a howl. Coming? No, not quite. Soon. “Do you get to have Harry's come inside of you again without my _explicit_ order, Susan?”

“N-NO!”

“Do I need to repeat this lesson, Susan?”

“ _NO!_ No, Ginny, oh, Merlin, no!” She is panting, her fire-red bottom thrusting back towards Ginny. “You c-can trust me, Ginny, I swear!”

Leaning forward, Ginny blows softly on the soft, round cheeks, kissing one and then the other. “I know I can, Susan. I know it.” She buries her nose in the notorious knickers and once again Harry's scent overwhelms her; they groan together. “No one else could have brought my gift to Harry, or brought his back to me. Thank you.” Nuzzling against the other girl's silk-clad quim, inhaling deeply, she rubs her stupidsmall nose up and down the length of Susan's vulva, feeling the hard clit bounce under her nose-tip. Twice. Thrice. Ginny's own fingers have found their way back beneath her jeans, found her own nubbin. Four. Five...

Susan screams--not a squeak like the one she gave yesterday when Ginny fingered her to orgasm, but a full-on scream: “OHHGODMERLINGOD _NEVILLLLLLLLLE_!”

Susan flops forward onto Ginny's bed, a quivering mass of pink and white and green, black hair splashing free of the ever-present plait. She is sobbing, her fingers grasping spasmodically at the quilt.

It is, Ginny is compelled to admit, the second sexiest sight that she has ever seen, after Harry between her thighs...

Neville.

Again not quite fulfilled, and yet again uncertain, Ginny withdraws her fingers from her jeans. Leaning forward again, she plants the gentlest kiss she can on Susan's backside.

Susan gasps again--her bum is probably still stinging--and rolls onto her side. “Thank you, Ginny.” She pulls off the knickers, soiled and soaked, and hands them back to their owner.

“Thank you, Susan.” Folding the silk carefully, Ginny considers where to hide the knickers so that her mother will never, ever find them. Nor anyone else. _Semen can be used for all sorts of potions and charms. Polyjuice..._. Owl them to herself at school, perhaps, or Transfigure them... She won't ever clean them, she realizes with a blush.

“Ginny,” murmurs naked Susan, an wanton odalisque on Ginny's little-girl bed, “Harry gave me something...”

Ginny holds a hand out closing Susan's lips, silencing her. “Neville, Susan?”

At first, her friend's dark eyes stare back in shock and confusion. Then recognition and embarrassment set in. “Oh. Did I...?”

Ginny nods.

“Ginny...” Susan takes Ginny's hand and pulls on it, tries to pull Ginny towards her, but Ginny learned the trick long ago of making herself immovable. She wants to know what's up first. Letting loose a deep breath, Susan says, “I... I'm a bit taken with Neville, Ginny.”

Ginny nods. “And he's gaga over you, isn't he? I _asked_ you this yesterday, Susan, you know...” She doesn't want to be angry, but she can feel her temper flaring.

“Ginny.” Susan kisses her hand. “Ginny. Listen to me. I fancy Neville. I fancy him a _lot._ We've been blushing at each other for six months. But in all of that time, we've barely said a word to each other that didn't in some way involve Herbology, or you, or Harry, or the DA. He's held my hand _twice._ I have _dreams_ about him, Ginny, such... I mean,” she says, her voice low, her face reddening again, “you can imagine the kinds of dreams I've had. About what I want to do with Neville. About what I want him to _do_ to me... And I've listened to you and Luna, and listened to your stories, and _wished_ that I could be like you, wished that _he_ could be like _Harry_ , but I didn't know _how_.” Susan kisses Ginny's hand again, kisses it lingeringly and then sucks the finger into her mouth, and Ginny's breath catches. “I know how now.”

“Susan...”

“Ginny, do you have any idea what you and Harry represent to me? To me and Neville and the rest of the DA, and even the students who aren't brave enough to be in the DA, but who know you are standing up against V-v-voldemort?” It is the first time that Ginny has ever heard Susan speak Tom Riddle's _nom de guerre_ aloud. “I know how he hates hero worship, and I know you have no sense at all of how heroic _you_ are. But _I_ know. You're so amazing and so f-fucking brave, and I would do _anything_ to help, Ginny, honestly. _Anything_. And you gave me this mission--to be a proxy between you and your boy, the Boy Who Lived, the fucking Chosen One. And even if I hadn't wanted to do it, Ginny, I would have done it proudly, for you. For him.” Susan places Ginny's hand on her full breast; the nipple is still erect--or perhaps is erect again. “But I _did_ want to do it, Ginny. I wanted to because I'm your friend, and because I admire the fuck out of you and out of Harry, and because I'm so blood _randy_ I could die, and until you kissed me yesterday and told me you wanted me to give that kiss to Harry, it was all only dreams, but we're in a war, Ginny, and I can't live for dreams any more.” Susan encourages Ginny's hand further south, along her belly, through her tangle of black--like Harry's--and down between her sticky thighs.

“Susan...”

Without releasing Ginny's hand from where it is pressed against Susan's open sex, the larger girl pulls Ginny to her, presses her lips against Ginny's, presses her tongue deep into Ginny's mouth. It is a kiss as passionate as any that Ginny has ever received--from Michael, from Dean, perhaps even from Harry. Susan's tongue retreats, but before Ginny can chase it, the other girls speaks, their lips still pressed together. “That wasn't from Harry, Ginny. That was from me. I fancy Neville. I do. I... I love him, I think. And now I know how to show him that. So thank you.” Susan kisses Ginny again, and rolls her onto her back. Susan's hands press under Ginny's jumper and find the painfully sensitive flesh of her breasts and nipples--no bra today, not under cashmere, no one ever noticed, not with Ginny's tiny, but _OHHHHHHHHHH...  
_

Susan sucks a nipple into her mouth and Ginny prays that the Imperturbable Charm is still holding because she's making all _sorts_ of noise, and she cannot help herself...

“But I do have one more thing that Harry wanted me to give you, Ginny.” Susan's mouth never leaves Ginny's breast, but her fingers are suddenly very busy with the zipper of Ginny's jeans, insistently pulling it down, insistently baring Ginny's own bottom.

Ginny cries out again when cool air and warm, soft fingers flow over her cunt.

“And, Ginny,” Susan says, kissing her way down to Ginny's navel and beyond, “he was _most_ particular that I give it to you _exactly_ as he gave it to me.”

_I love you, Ginny_ , says Susan's tongue, and--knowing the love for Harry's--Ginny's body responds.


	3. Blown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Blown_ — adj :** Having lost the protection of secrecy or subterfuge. “Once agents' identities have been discovered, their cover is blown.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Susan leads Antosha further astray.
> 
> Warnings: References to mild BDSM and Dom/sub power-play. Susan's a bad influence.
> 
> Thanks to aberforths_rug for the beta, and to sadisticseraph for the insight. Oh, and to malaleen, for spreading the N/S love! ;-)

> **_Blown_ — adj :** Having lost the protection of secrecy or subterfuge. “Once agents' identities have been discovered, their cover is blown.”

The squeezed-through-a-hosepipe feeling disappears and Susan gasps with relief as she stares around the familiar swards of Green Park. Walking down into the Weasleys' kitchen was hard enough--naked beneath her robes, sticky between her legs and around her mouth, delicious shame coursing through her--but to find Auror Dawlish engaged in what looked to be a very involved conversation with Minister Scrimgeour of all people through the Floo… Susan skittered out the door of the Burrow waving goodbye to Ginny's mum, and Apparated as soon as she'd cleared the wards.

_Hands on my bum, stinging like lust, nose on my button,_ Oh, Neville _, over the chair from behind, I'm such a naughty girl…  
_

Susan blushes and peers around. It's cool here in London, but clear--not sleeting as it was in Devonshire. Looking around to make sure none of the Muggles who are taking their constitutionals in the Queen's own park notice her walking out of the little copse opposite Bones House, she strides towards her family's ancestral home.

She remembers a time when she didn't believe that the Muggles really couldn't see the cozy Stuart pile of stones that her family has lived in since Caractacus Bones became the first member of the family to serve as Sorcerer to the Crown under James I. She was convinced Geoff was simply having her on, as older brothers are wont to do. But no.

Nonchalantly leaning against the front gate, making sure that no Muggles are looking her way--they never are--Susan enters her family's front garden.

Geoff's probably with Daddy today, continuing his apprenticeship in the little garret room at the palace (so theatrical), preparing him for the day when he will be the twenty-second Bones to serve an English monarch as a private wizard. Stealthily passing through the heavy oak front door, Susan tastes the silence reigning over the house. Mum is likely to be home, but certain to be engaged in one of her research projects. _Neville's eyes, quiet and greenbrown on me as Nott tried to convince Ginny that Romilda was expendable. “But we don't do that, do we?” Wanted to kiss him right there. That soft mouth on mine. His green-stained fingers pulling…_ If Susan is quiet and careful she can get up to her bedroom and--

“Susan?” her mother calls out from her basement lair. _Need to look through her papers--Hermione asked for more data on untraceable Portkeys_ … “Is that you?”

“Um, yes!” Susan prays desperately her mum won't come and investigate--she feels as if she reeks of sex and naughtiness, and if her mother walks up to her now, Susan knows that shame and the smell of Ginny all over her face will give her away in an instant. She starts tiptoeing to the stairs. “I'm just heading up--"

“Oh, good.” Before Susan can make her escape, her mother barks once more. “Susan, darling, that lovely Longbottom boy is here for you. He came by about twenty minutes ago, all flustered and shy--he's so sweet. I sent him up to the library--oh, and do ask him to stay for tea. I was just going to pop out for some of those lovely ginger scones from Dinwiddy's. Would you like some?”

“Um… Yes, mum!” Alone in the house. With Neville. _Nothing on beneath my robes. Over the back of the chair in the…_ “That would be, um, lovely.” _Dinwiddy's is a fifteen-minute walk each way… Soft mouth._ “Well, I'll go see to him. See you in a bit!”

Susan quietly flies up the stairs, the breeze blowing up under her robes and over her quim, which has flowered open at the mere thought of _him_. The door to the library is open; she pauses outside to collect herself.

“Susan?” The familiar, beloved voice undoes any collection Susan may have managed. “Is that you?'

_Oh, hell. Should have gone up and changed. Should have…_ “Hullo, Neville.” She steps through the doorway; though the house is warm as always, she is shivering.

Neville's hazel eyes are _not_ warm. Nor are they soft. He looks up at Susan from the chair by the hearth-- _bent over the arm, my ankles tied to the legs_ \--with an expression of deep hurt and disappointment. His legs are tightly crossed, and his cheeks burn crimson.

Susan clutches her robes' clasps tight, as if her secret might suddenly reveal itself. And Neville does not seem in the mood to see her naked just at the moment. “Is… Um, is everything all right, Neville? Has something happened?” _Luna and Nott--perhaps the Malfoys discovered that they were being spied on--  
_

“I… I saw you.”

“What?”

“You cast an Imperturbable Charm on Ginny's d-door, but you didn't lock it. I knocked and kn-knocked, but of course you couldn't hear me, so I opened--"

“Oh.” True shame courses through Susan now-there is nothing delicious about it.

“Susan, darling!” her mother calls up from the entry hall, “I'll be back in just a tick. We'll have tea down in the front drawing room at four on the nose!” Forty-five minutes. Before Susan can answer, can say that perhaps scones aren't such a good idea, she hears the door closing heavily, the _thunk_ echoing through the old house like doom.

“Neville.” _Neville, I love you. Neville, it was your name I…. Neville, I love you. Neville, I'll do any--  
_

“Susan,” he sighs, “I d-don't mind.” His face contorts, belying his words. “I mean, I thought… But Ginny is-- And Harry. I just, just thought I _knew_ you better. I'm just disappointed--not in _you_ , you know--just, you know, I thought maybe you _liked_ me as much as I…” He runs out of steam, pleading with her with his eyes, pleading for some explanation, and Susan has no idea if the truth will make things better for him or worse, and she cannot stand to cause him _more_ pain.

A calm sense of dread spills coldly over her. There is only one thing for it: tell the truth; take the consequences. “Neville. When did you come in?”

His eyes go round, like his toad's. His mouth is flapping open like his toad's too, and Susan wants to run out of the room or to throw herself on his lap and just kiss him but she knows that either would be the wrong thing to do, and so she stands there, fidgeting with her robes, very conscious of her nakedness beneath.

Finally he looks at her pleadingly and whispers, “She was s-sp-sp…”

“Spanking me?”

He nods, and his eyes grow even larger--and Susan cannot tell if this is a sign of distress or of relief. “And t-telling you… Not to t-take… Take…”

“Not to take Harry's come inside of me?”

A mask of misery settles over Neville's face, but Susan notices that he's crossing his legs even tighter; there is a damp circle showing on his trousers. At his hip. _How_ **long** …? Looking into Neville Longbottom's eyes, she sees a reflection of her own sweet self-loathing. And she knows what he needs. What he wants. Truth.

“Neville,” she says, and her voice sounds far away, “do you know what she was talking to me about?”

He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I went on a mission last night, Neville. Ginny and Harry had scheduled a meeting--their first in two months--but the Ministry had put a tail on Ginny. So she sent me instead.”

Neville scowls--so unlike himself--but he is still listening.

“I carried some messages. DA messages. Oh, he said _raw_ stinksap, um… And…” Thinking about yesterday--about last night--about this afternoon… In spite of the urgency of this conversation, Susan feels her flesh's responses recapitulating themselves. “G-ginny hasn't been able to see Harry in months, Neville. You know how they feel about each other.” Neville's dark gaze settles on Susan's chest--on the nipples that are once again straining at her robes' fabric. “She asked… She asked me to give him something for her. She… She _gave_ me something to give him. A kiss.”

Neville's eyes pop back up to hers.

“H-hannah and I used to p-practice kissing when we were little, but this wasn't like that, not at all, this was…” Susan bites her lip, trying to remember, to find words to describe the heat of Ginny's lips against hers, the feel of that small body writhing… “We, um, got a bit, um, _carried away_. All about Harry, you see. She wanted me to kiss him _properly_.”

He is squirming in the chair again, and as he turns, Susan can see the shape of the erection that he is trying to hide.

_Oh. My._ She walks closer to him. “So what she ended up giving me to pass along was m-more than just a kiss. She t-touched me, and asked me to, um, do that to Harry. For her.” Standing just before Neville, she marvels at the sweet beauty of that face, so kind even when he is clearly so uncomfortable. She kneels at his feet to try to put him more at ease, but no--if anything he looks more uncomfortable. “Neville. I did. I did bring that… to Harry. And he, um, gave me something to give back to her.”

“Was that…?” he murmurs, so quietly. So gently.

Susan shakes her head. “I… I found out some very interesting things today and yesterday, Neville. I found out that it's very, very… nice to, um, touch.” Neville's face slowly reddens. “Not that that's a, um, surprise. But, um… Another thing that I found out was that I find, um, _strong_ people really, you know… exciting.”

“Like Harry and Ginny,” he croaks.

She peers up into the soft hazel eyes. _Please, Neville…_ “Do… Do you understand?”

He nods, surprisingly emphatic. Cool relief eases some of Susan's agony.

“Ginny was sp-spanking me because I felt as if I hadn't d-done it right. As if… It was a bit of a game, really. She did it because _I_ wanted her to.” A new flutter passes through Susan--not fear or shame, this one. Her hands grasp involuntarily at her robes where they bunch at her hips. _Stinging. Kisses like cool water. Her nose on my button…_ “The other thing that I discovered… How much d-did you see…?”

“Just the spanking. I couldn't. I couldn't. I. Left.” His eyes are back on her breasts and Susan feels an odd joy; she has always hated that half of the boys and a few of the teachers at Hogwarts don't look her in the eye.

But she knows that Neville doesn't think of her as a floating set of bubbies. It is as if he is allowing himself to see them for the first time. To see her whole for the first time. “You left. And you came right here. Why?”

He blinks and frowns--but this is a frown that she has seen before; he is considering her question, weighing it in that unflinching, compassionate way that he has. “I wanted to… to see you. To talk to you.”

_Neville at the door, watching me squirm under Ginny's…_ “Are you angry with me, Neville?” Still frowning, he shakes his head. “Did… did you like watching that at all, Neville?”

He continues to scowl, but Neville's pelvis is moving in ways that give her some idea of how that sight had made him feel. His gaze bores into her, into the fluffy curves that she has never been certain that he has truly seen. _Did you like what you saw, Neville?  
_

“There's something else I learned today.” She begins to unbutton her robes. “Did you see her kiss my bum, Neville?”

He lets out a choking cough and shakes his head.

For the second time today, she peels the robes off of her shoulders and lets them fall to the ground. Neville's hands twitch in his lap. “Did you see her use her nose on my bottom?”

_No!_ he mouths.

Her own hands are trembling now. “She did, Neville. She made me come. And do you know what I was thinking about when that amazing feeling flooded over me? And when Harry's mouth was nibbling at me last night? And when Ginny was diddling me yesterday?”

He is still now. He waits.

“I was thinking of them. Some. Of how amazing they are. And how much I would do to make them happy. But mostly?” She reaches out with a quivering hand and takes a quivering hand in her own. “Mostly I was thinking about the bravest, sweetest, most beautiful boy in the whole world and how much I wanted to do all of those things with him. That's the other thing I learned today. That I would do anything for him. _Anything_.” She gently pulls his fingers over her moving breasts.

His face wars between bliss and uncertainty. “Who?” He can't possibly be joking; he can't possibly be serious.

A dam breaks inside of Susan and she throws herself at him, her lip against his lips, her chest against his chest, her naked crotch against his stiff-centered trousers. “You, Neville! You!” she howls between kisses. “You're what I want. You.”

“Susan.” He takes her face in his hands and stops her. “I… I've always… I don't mind being what's available. But I don't think I could stand it, Susan, not being what you really want, so don't say things just to--"

“Neville, I swear, I do, there is no one else. I've never…” _FUCK._ “Neville, I've hurt you, I'm so sorry, I was just trying to help them--"

“No, Susan, I understand, I--"

“Ginny and Harry--"

“--are so amazing and they're just… Everything we're all fighting for is just… _them_ , I know, Susan, but don't tell me things… I fancy you, Susan, I feel like I have forever, and I've been trying to tell you that for months, and kiss, and _touch_ …” He takes her breasts reverently back into his hands. “But I need to know…”

“You are the one, Neville. The only one.” She kisses him again, and she feels him sob. “Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry, I _have_ hurt you, and I didn't mean… I've been trying to work up the nerve too, for months and months. If I hadn't done this for them, I wouldn't know _how_ , Neville, I…” She bites her lip, peering into his face. “Would it help…? Would you…?” She climbs back off of his lap and kneels, naked, before him. “I will pay whatever price you ask to prove to you that… That you are the one that I love.” She turns, presenting her bum to him. “You can p-p-"

“No!” Neville barks. “No! I don't want to, to _punish_ … Susan.” His hands are hot on her shoulders as he pulls her upright and _against_ … “I wouldn't let _anyone_ hurt you, Susan. All I ever wanted…” His eyes plead.

She feels his breath on her cheek. His cock arcing from her pubis to well above her navel-- _Merlin!_ “I'm yours, Neville. I promise.”

He moans. “I smell… Is that…?”

“Ginny. Yes. But Neville, that… I've never… No one else has ever _had_ me, Neville. My heart. My body. But you can. Now. Do you want to _\--_ ” _FUCKPLEASEFUCK_! “--m-make love to me, Neville?”

“Merlin,” he moans. “I, I do, I would, I…” Suddenly his jaw sets, and his face takes on the hard, determined expression that she has seen him bear when he's heading out on an operation. _Quiet, soft eyes… Hands on my bottom, stinging like lust._ “But not on the floor. Not when your mother--"

Pleading, Susan finds her pelvis grinding , her vulva measuring the length of Neville's cock through his trousers: it is clear his name is well-earned. “She'll be another fifteen or twenty--"

“No.”

A part of Susan is disappointed; a whinge leaks up from her gut. A part of her thrills at his authority and self-control. “ _Please_.”

He grabs her hips to still their rocking. Susan has always hated the fluffiness of her legs, her bottom, but right now his tight grasp on that fluff excites her more than anything that she has ever felt--more than Harry's tongue on her cunt or Ginny's nose on her clit. She stops; his cock is pulsing to the same heartbeat that is pounding in her ears.

Neville leans forward the few inches that divide them and takes command of her mouth--soft, gentle, absolute. Between kisses, he murmurs, “I want to. I want to… to make love to you so much…”

A low deep growl boils up from a place in Susan that she never suspected that she possessed.

“But I want it to be _right_. I want…” She can feel how he is struggling to maintain his control; his hips are vibrating, doing the most _distracting_ \-- “Susan.”

“Neville?” _Bent over the chair--  
_

“W-whatareyoudoingtonight?” His eyes are soft and sad and almost green in the dark, and the desperate need in her middle seems to have been replaced by a puddle of warm goo.

“Are you asking me on a date, Neville?” He nods, very, very seriously. “Oh. Oh. Um. Nothing. I mean… Yes?”

A burble of relief bubbles up from his chest. _Did he really think I'd say no?_ “Good. Good. Yes, yes, erm, do you remember Meryton?”

“The Ollivander raid?” _Poor Mr Ollivander, spellbound to the workbench, bent and twisted like a wind-blown tree by the Cruciatus… But he is free now; and he gave us the spell that deactivates all of the Death Eater wands that he was forced--  
_

“There was a pub that Peakes pointed out to us near that warehouse--the Rose and Thorn. Can you, by, erm, seven o'clock?”

She nods; the warm goo seems to have wandered up her throat and robbed her of her voice. _Tied to the bar, in front of all of the Muggles…  
_

His mouth takes command of hers again and her body begins to move in spite of her joy, in spite of knowing that he has asked her to wait, and quickly his distended trouser front is rubbing up against her quim in ways that she knows will lead to an even larger wet spot.

“Neville?” She lifts off of him; both shudder at the loss of contact. “Mum's going to be home soon, and if you don't want to have that wonderful lump in the front of your trousers… Um. Can I help you?”

Though his eyes are squeezed almost shut with desire--or perhaps terror--he manages to blink. “Help me?”

Her fingers on his trouser buttons, she whispers in his ear, “Would you like to come inside of my mouth, Neville?”

He lets out a faint squawk of assent.

She climbs off of his lap and peels open his fly, unleashing a cock that is long and beautiful and stiff and bright red because of _her_. Susan Bones gives Neville Longbottom a smile that she hopes conveys the smallest part of what she is feeling in this moment, and lowers her mouth to him.

_I love you, Neville,_ her mouth tells him, and soon, in a liquid rush, he answers.


	4. Blowback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Blowback_ — n :** Unexpected consequences of a mission, esp. of a negative nature. “A blown mission in one theater can often lead to blowback in another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a real departure from anything that I've ever written—which is to say, please, please note the warnings! This won't be to everone's taste. Of course, given that it combines explicit slash with some gen bits and implied femmeslash and het ... I'm not sure that it's going to be **anyone's** taste.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit slash (male/male) sex, liek woah. Implied het. Implied femmeslash. Implied D/s and pegging (my new word for the week). Proxy sex. Some angst. Some gen. The kitchen sink. Pre-DH.
> 
> Thanks, thanks, thanks to aberforths_rug and to joesther for the beta. Who knew that a guy would need so much help from a pair of (wonderful, thoughtful) women to write m/m sex! Well, I did. So thrice more, thanks. Thanks. Thanks. :-)

> **_Blowback_ — n :** Unexpected consequences of a mission, esp. of a negative nature. “A blown mission in one theater can often lead to blowback in another.”

Ginny’s lips press hot and urgent; Neville’s own mouth trembles against them, barely managing a response.

“Don’t forget, Neville. Just like that.”

_My lips against Harry, Susan’s mouth on…_

Susan’s breasts spread against Neville’s back as she tucks him in and slowly buttons his fly, his shirt, squeezing him from behind.

_Like mountains of everything good. In her mother’s house. Her mouth on… Harry’s mouth._

Standing between them, Neville shudders with a combination of fear and excitement—a combination that is an old friend of his.

“ _I don’t think you should be breaking any more rules. And you were the one who told me to stand up…._ ”

In Neville’s pocket, the DA coin warms. A flood of terror and adrenaline surge through him; now or never. “That’s the go signal,” Neville whispers; grabbinghis robes and pulling them on, he takes hold of his wand and pulls out the coin.

Ginny’s eyes flash open. “Tell him—” she gasps.

“I will,” he says, and with a nervous tap activates the Portkey function of the coin. _The Plow, Taymouth, Perthshire._ A yank on his navel, like the lifesaver that pulled him out of the water that time that Uncle Algie pushed him in at Blackpool and—

Harry runs at him, wild-eyed. “ _Damn_! Is she okay? Neville, Neville, _is Ginny all right_?” His fingernails dig into Neville’s wrists; Neville can feel that they are uneven. _Broken? Chewed?_ Harry never chewed on his fingernails. He is vibrating.

“She’s fine, Harry, she’s well, they didn’t touch her, I promise.” _Kiss him now? No._ “She sent me—"

“ _Why_? Why didn’t she come herself?”

Through what looks to be an act of pure will, Harry stops shaking, but his grip doesn’t soften, and Neville is very aware of Harry’s body. “It’s the coins, I’ve got the only… The Ministry, they need to debrief her, Scrimgeour’s coming himself, and McGonagall’s going to be there, they’re coming to talk to her, we tried to get them to wait until tomorrow, but Luna’s had to take a sleeping draught and Nott… And they’d already talked to me and Susan, not Scrimgeour, but the Aurors, and they… They told her they’d see her in the Headmistress’s office at a quarter past the hour, and that just gave her time to b-brief me, and give me—"

“ _She’s okay?_ ” Harry asks, face pale.

“Yeah,” answers Neville, “yeah, she’s fine, Harry. Ginny’s fine.”

Harry leans against Neville and then sinks to floor, leaning against the bed at their side. “Oh, fuck,” he sobs. Neville has never seen him cry.

Kneeling down next to Harry, Neville wraps an uncertain arm around his friend. Harry’s hands cover his face and he collapses against Neville’s shoulder, weeping there. Suddenly, Harry—larger-than-life, Gryffindor-to-the-marrow Harry—seems very, very small. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s okay.” Neville feels the hot gasps against his throat. _At the Rose and Thorns, buried in her, her screaming into my…_ “It’s okay.”

“FUCK!” Harry growls, slamming himself back against the bed, swiping angrily at his face. Rearranging his glasses, he takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling.

_Susan, when she’s nervous…_

When he speaks, Harry’s voice is low and steady, though the muscles in his chin are knotted. “So, you and Ginny and Susan are okay. That’s the first thing. Tell me, Neville. How many? How many of the DA did they kill?”

“One. Only one.”

Harry’s eyes, green and still bright and wet, flash onto Neville, and he quails beneath their flood. “One? But George said there were dozens of Death Eaters? And dementors? _ONE?_ ”

“Uh, yeah. Teddy Nott. Poor, amazing sod. Everything else worked like clockwork. Twenty Death Eaters captured,” Neville says, the report clear in his mind, the memory even clearer. _Bloody Bellatrix screaming with rage as Susan disarmed her and I— **I, Neville Bloody Longbottom** —immobilized and stunned her. And stunned her again,_ _just_ _…_ “Five Dementors Dissipated with that spell that Professor Lupin came up with and the rest driven away like rabbits. None of the Death Eaters escaped; they were inside the grounds, so they couldn’t Disapparate.”

Harry gapes, the adrenaline flush still burning on his face, but relief and disbelief now taking over. “But…?”

“It was all those new Portkeys that Susan’s mum’s been working on; before we passed the notes on to you and Hermione, Luna and Nott got to looking at them and they realized that they were really versatile and easy to configure, especially over short distances. So all of the members of the DA had the spells bound into their coins: one spell to create a short-range Portkey as quick as Apparating—they’ll bring you anywhere within twenty or thirty miles—but another to summon any DA members within range. We keep them and our wands on us at all times.”

“Bloody hell!” Harry shakes his head—disbelief still hadn’t been dispelled. “So Ginny…?”

Neville nods. “She and Luna were coming up from Hagrid’s—they’re the only students in NEWT-level Care of Magical Creatures, so they’re down there a lot. Anyhow, Nott had gone down to meet them—"

“Merlin,” Harry gasps. “Poor Nott. Poor Luna!”

“Yeah,” agrees Neville. “She’s taken it pretty hard. She’s in the Hospital Wing full to the ears with Dreamless Sleep; she nearly ripped the Carrows’ heads off with her bare hands after they killed him.”

“I… I didn’t even _know_ Nott. God. Luna.” Pale now, Harry’s face shows that he is thinking just how he would feel if it had been Ginny.

“Listen, Harry—" Neville begins, leaning closer to Harry against the side of the bed.

“Wait.” Harry grabs Neville’s still-sweaty hand. “What _happened_ , Neville?”

“Right,” Neville says with a weak grin, uncertain whether he can or should withdraw his hand from Harry’s. “So Nott was there to meet them. The Death Eaters must have been watching for a while, because they knew just where they’d find Ginny.”

“Ginny.”

“Yeah. They were definitely after her. That… _cow_ Bellatrix. She was taunting her.”

Again Harry’s hands cover his face; he is curved in upon himself, knees, hands, face.Neville’s palm feels suddenly cool and empty. “It was because of me and her, wasn’t it? Snape or Malfoy must have—"

“No, no, Harry, it wasn’t that. Ginny said the filthy… The _bitch_ kept telling her V-voldemort was going to enjoy having her back, that he understood she was excellent company as a little girl…”

Again, shock rounds Harry’s face. _Perfect green circles, like gingko leaves…_

“She… She said you’d know what that meant.”

“I do. I do.” Riffling his fingers through his mass of black hair, Harry stares at his feet. “Bloody hell. So it was _that_?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever that was.”

“Oh, fuck. It was… It’s something nasty that the Malfoys did to Ginny when she was little. It’s her story to tell. But…” He lets out a strangled bark of a laugh. “I thought I was keeping her _safe_ by sending her back.”

“Well,” Neville says, waiting to continue until Harry looks up—he wants Harry to hear this, to know that his sacrifice and Ginny’s has actually been for a reason. “We’re very lucky that you did. Because she’s the reason the DA was ready today. I know it’s been hard for you and Ginny, but Susan and I—"

Smiling, Harry pushes his shoulder against Neville’s. “Yeah. You and Susan. She told me the last time she came, three weeks back. Lucky bastard.”

_Susan’s mouth on me, on Harry, her hands… Ginny’s mouth on Susan. Breasts like mountains of every good thing against my back…_

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. And we know, Harry, we know how, uh, _hard_ , it’s been for the two of you, that’s why…”

_Susan on Ginny’s bed, bum red, SMACK, red head between white thighs, soft fingers around Harry’s cock, my cock, her mouth…_

In unison, both boys blush and nod.

“Harry, Ginny gave—”

“Tell me the rest, Neville.” Harry stares at his hands now, where they rest on his knees.

“Yeah.” Neville fights down the flutter of anxious arousaland continues with his report. “So there were twenty of them, all right around Ginny and Luna and… and Teddy. And when the Lestrange bint starts to tell Teddy that it’s time to, you know, join his proper side, he refuses, and steps between the bitch and Ginny and—"

“And that’s when the Carrows killed him.”

“Yeah. But he gave Ginny time to activate the coin and call the DA.” In spite of himself, Neville grins. “You should’ve seen it, Harry. One moment it’s twenty Death Eaters and a dozen dementorsto three students, the next we all show up and it’s a hundred and thirty-four DA members—wands out and casting—to twenty. It was nice to see _them_ afraid for a change. Anthony’s group Dissipated the dementors almost immediately, and half of the Death Eaters had dropped before the count of five. Ginny was _brilliant_ , Harry, she was…” _Face like some old warrior queen, hair flying, casting…_ “The whole thing was over in less than a minute. Not one of them even had a chance to call for help.”

“Wow.” All of the nervous tension in Harry seems to drain away, like puss from a bubotuber, leaving him lank and deflated against the bed. “Bloody hell.”

“Yeah.” Neville reaches a tentative hand over, touches Harry’s wrist.

_Fingers inside of Susan, nails broken, inside…_ “Harry. Ginny’s okay.”

Harry—brave Harry, stoic Harry, undemonstrative Harry—looks up at Neville with pool-wide eyes, and his lip quivers. “You…?”

Warmth swells through Neville—several sources of heat, all at once. “Yeah. We thought… See, the Ministry confiscated the coins—seemed more fussed about that than three students getting attacked, to be honest, kept asking, _Where did you get these coins, who made them for you,_ on and on, and so we all had to turn them in to some Unspeakables, only I’d misplaced mine last week, but they’re keyed to us individually, so no one can use one to sneak, not even with Polyjuice, so Luna made me a new one, and I found the old one on Sunday in Trevor’s bed, so when Ginny was panicked because she knew you’d go ‘round the twist after this morning if she didn’t show up, I said I’d come. And Ginny—”

Harry’s eyes snap into sharp, hungry focus, and he lunges forward, kissing Neville hard on the lips. “Thank you, Neville. Thank you. Oh, God.”

Caughtoff guard, stunned, Neville stammers, “I… _I_ was supposed…”

_Rough lips, like warm ice, his scruff against my cheek, apple smell of sweat and panic… Kissing Susan, me inside, inside of me…_

Harry grins sheepishly. “Yeah. I sort of assumed. Erm, sorry.”

_Nothing to be sorry…!_ “Don’t worry. But…” _Don’t forget, Neville. Just like that_. Neville closes the distance between them, his mouth finding Harry’s again. Harry begins to try to back up—surprised?—but Neville holds him, runs an arm around his waist—hard, sharp hips. Before fear can reappear, Neville flares his tongue into Harry’s mouth as Ginny had done into his, and nearly faints when Harry tenses.

Then Harry takes a deep, shuddering breath.

And relaxes under Neville’s hand. Against Neville’s chest.

Not his tongue, though—his tongue slithers against and around Neville’s, and Neville’s cock suddenly roars stiffly to life.

_Susan, on her knees… In Susan’s mouth. In Harry’s mouth! **I’m kissing Harry!**_

The image of his very first wet dream flashes in Neville’s head: Hermione and Harry kissing. _Hermione… and Harry? Kissing?_

Just as he’s about to come, explode, pass out, tear Harry’s trousers, shirt, pants, glasses off—all of those, all at once—Harry leans back, separating their faces by a palm’s width. There is confusion in his eyes, and Neville is overcome by panic. “Uh, okay, Harry?”

Harry nods slowly, in a way that gives the lie to the answer. “Yeah. Great.”

“Sorry. I know it’s not the same.”

“Git.” Harry bats Neville on the shoulder. “It was… odd, don’t get me wrong, but Susan’s a lucky girl.”

Suddenly bashful, Neville shrugs.

“Thank you, Neville.” Harry leans back, staring toward the dark window. “Thanks for coming. Thanks for taking care of Ginny. Thanks for the kiss.”

“Er. Ta.” It is taking all of the discipline that no one thinks Neville has not to start kissing Harry’s neck.

Harry doesn’t seem to notice. Though they are still close—still touching—he is a million miles away. “Maybe it’s destiny.”

“What?” _Him and…?_

“Maybe I’m never to see her again. Maybe that’s how it’s meant to be.” He sounds so sad, so _old,_ that it breaks Neville’s heart, distracted by ill-timed hormones as he is.

“No, Harry, come on. You’re _meant_. Honest. It’ll happen, I swear. Soon.” Neville gives Harry a squeeze—only noticing after that his hand is still resting on Harry’s hip.

“Yeah, right.” He shakes his head like a dog shedding water, then nods quickly, decisively. Staring down at Neville’s hand— _just inches…—_ he murmurs, “I… Neville, did… Did Ginny give…?”

Now it’s Neville’s turn to nod, and he does it with gusto. “Yeah. Yeah. She did. She gave me that kiss to give to you. She said to give it to you just that way. She did.”

Again Harry nods, a bit more quickly this time. “Yeah.” Without taking his eyes from Neville’s, he puts his hand over Neville’s fingers where they’re clutching Harry’s hip. Face and eyes still, he asks, “Did…? Did she, erm, give you anything _else_ to, erm, _give_ to me?”

Now Neville can’t even nod. Is Harry angry? Is he frightened? He could be excited, though he doesn’t look it. “I… Only if you want, Harry.”

“Ah.”

Neville grasps Harry’s hand tightly. _Heartbeat like a rabbit’s, he’s got. One of us has_ _. Lips like hot ice_ _._ “Harry.”

“Uh.”

“Harry. Ginny gave me… To…” Neville stops when he sees a look of clear panic flashing across his friend’s face. “Nothing you don’t want, you know, Harry, just… I can do everything, I’ll never tell, really, Harry, but—"

To Neville’s shock, Harry stops him with another kiss. A small one this time, and trembling. “Nev… Neville. It’s just… not what I’d expected, you know?” He is talking into Neville’s cheek, as Susan has done. As Ginny did.

_Damn._ “It’s okay, Harry.”

“Is it something _you_ want?”

Heat like sunlight floods through Neville’s chest. “Uh. Yes?”

“Neville? Do you like boys?” Harry’s voice is very soft now.

“Uh. Dunno?” In spite of the heat in his body, Neville is shivering. “I’ve always…” The words die. _Harry and Hermione kissing. Kissing one of Cho’s bubbies_ _while_ _Harry kisses the other. Kissing Ginny while Harry fucks her. Mounting Susan while Harry mounts…_ “I’ve had fantasies. About…”

Harry squeezes Neville’s hand gently. “About other guys?”

“About girls. And… uh… And you. Together.” Harry’s face, so close— _those lips again—_ falls. “I love Susan, Harry, I do, I love her, but I’ve wanted to kiss you like that since…”

“Since _when_ , Neville?”

“Since the first train ride?” _Green eyes like jade plant._

Silence echoes between them. The puffs of Harry’s breath are moist on Neville’s lips. “Oh. Wow.”

_Please!_ “I won’t tell anyone, Harry. I promise.”

Another squeeze on the hand. “I trust you, Neville. With my life.” Green eyes flick down, then up. “What do you, erm, want to do?”

What does Neville want to do? That is a terrible, consuming question just at the moment. Part of him wants to activate the Portkey and go back to his safe room at Hogwarts. And part of him—the Gryffindor part, he supposes—wants to do for Harry what Ginny asked.

More than a part of him wants it. More than a part of him has been dreaming of doing something like this for months. Maybe years, though he’d never have been able to imagine it, let alone admit it. His eyes still locked on Harry’s chlorophyll-tinted ones, he says, “Ginny… Just sit back.”

The green eyes go round but Harry nods, and so Neville leans forward and kisses him again. Harry seems almost used to it now, the pressure of Neville’s lips on his dry ones—there’s no initial tensing this time—though Neville has to admit that the idea of kissing Harry like this still has him light-headed. _Next… Next Ginny…_ Lips and hands trembling, heart thudding, he lets his palm slide across the front of Harry’s jeans.

To his enormous relief and excitement he finds that Harry’s erection is straining the denim—when Susan first proposed this, Neville’s first image was of a disgusted Harry sitting there flaccid while Neville tried to play the role that Susan herself played so well.

Neville attempts to begin unbuttoning the trousers but his hand is shaking too hard. Still kissing, Harry puts his hand atop Neville’s. For a moment, Neville thinks Harry will pull his hand away, but no—Harry presses Neville’s palm down into his erection, then begins undoing the fly himself. “Bloody hell,” Harry murmurs into Neville’s lips once the jeans pop open.Once Harry’s cock springs into Neville’s hand.

Dense as rootwood and polished smooth, but _warm…_

Harry isn’t wearing pants. He was expecting Ginny. Without thinking, Neville’s fingers tighten around Harry and he groans into Neville’s lips. _Heart like a rabbit…_ Reluctantly, Neville lets go and begins to try to tug the jeans down.

Not kissing now, Harry begins to breathe more and more rapidly.

“B-budge up,” Neville whispers, and remembers Ginny’s order when he was in Harry’s position— _no, not Ginny’s. It was Susan’s,_ _whispered_ _in my ear_ —“Stand.”

Harry pulls back for a moment, a question in his eyes, but nods. “Neville?”

“ _Please_.”

Harry nods again, looking as terrified as Neville feels—terrified, but _ohhhhhh—_ and pushes up on the bed behind them until he is standing, his jeans falling to bunch at his calves. Neville pushes them the rest of the way down and helps Harry kick them off. His trainers go too, and so Harry is left wearing a pair of Holyhead Harpies socks and a Muggle t-shirt showing a still, pale, angular face that might or might not be a woman’s.

And a pulsing, stiff penis—a stamen dark pink like dianthus—that points just over Neville’s head.

Harry’s fingers fiddle with the bottom of the shirt and he shuffles from foot to foot. Neville tears his eyes from his friend’s midsection and looks up. Harry too is searching the ceiling. “Er, Neville—”

_Now or never_. Neville reaches forward and runs the fingers of his hand back around Harry’s cock, and Harry stops talking. Stops moving. Stops breathing.

_Just like this…_

Before he gives himself time to think about it, Neville leans forward and puts his lips on the head of the cock. Neville can smell something flowery on Harry’s body—soap? He tastes… Nutty. Neville licks the head and Harry shudders. A sour splash joins the walnutty flavor, and Neville feels a flush of odd pride, knowing that he is tasting Harry’s _excitement_. His hand still grasping the base of Harry’s cock, he lets the head through his lips and into his mouth, remembering Susan’s whispered instructions— _Ginny’s mouth, small and hot_ , _“No teeth, start slow, use your fingers.”_

Neville was worried that it would be hard to take Harry into his mouth, that it would be too odd, too _big,_ but it’s…

When Neville was a fourth-year, after he’d heard Fred and George tell tales of Angelina Johnson taking them both in her mouth at once, Neville had dreamed… Always Harry, Harry and Cho, cocks together between her tiny breasts, together in her tiny mouth… And he had found that, if he squirmed around just _so_ in his four-poster he could just get his own into his own, and it was nice feeling, but nothing like Susan’s mouth on…

Or Harry’s cock in Neville’s mouth, sliding smoothly through fingers and lips, along the top of his palette, against his tongue—Neville, sucking Harry, Harry’s hands clenched on Neville’s shoulders, moaning, “Ginny, god, Ginny.”

_Just like this…_

Susan, whispering in his ear, breasts against his back, _like mountains of everything good..._ Susan’s _wand_ …

Continuing to suck on Harry just as Ginny did on him— _still warm and damp from her mouth on_ —Neville stops mindlessly stroking himself and removes his wand from his back pocket and (left-handed and non-verbally) casts a quick spell. As Harry’s cock clears his lips he peers up and mumbles around the dripping head, his hand still working, “This is something… I’m gonna do something… I promise this’ll feel really good. Okay?”

“Fine. _Fuck_. Feels good… _Please…_ ” Harry blinks in some kind of acknowledgment, his face slack and dark, and Neville slips his wand, his new wand, behind Harry and up through…

_Just like this_ …

A high, bird sound from Harry; Harry’s body stiffens, cheeks tight around the wand, but Neville keeps stroking and sucking, and Harry makes another, much lower sound, and bends forward over Neville’s head, those uneven nails digging at Neville’s neck; the wand slides _in_. Neville thrills to feel Harry’s cock head swell against his palate and twists his wand, letting it sink a little further—

Harry howls as Neville’s wand moves, he bucks, and suddenly there is a flood of bitter heat in Neville’s mouth—hot down his throat, and he is drowning, frightened— _Blackpool_ —but it is Harry and he wants to—

_Just like this…_

He swallows, and swallows again, Harry’s flesh pulsing in his mouth, and finally Neville has swallowed it all— _all_. He licks Harry’s head one more time, and is rewarded with another groan, and then a deep shudder and a last spill of liquid. Neville lets his wand slide out of Harry, and Harry goes boneless, his cock spilling from Neville’s mouth as he collapses to his knees, his head falling to Neville’s shoulder, his crotch damp against Neville’s.

They kneel there against each other, breathing heavily.

“Okay, Harry?” Neville asks, not sure that he wants to hear the answer.

Harry starts to chuckle, a low, deep laugh unlike any that Neville has heard from his friend in all the years that they’ve known each other. “Okay? Bloody hell, Neville!”

Neville snorts, his mouth and throat still thick with Harry’s seed, and that causes Harry’s low rumble of a chuckle to bloom into a full, rolling guffaw, and Neville finds himself laughing along without restraint, without embarrassment. The two of them collapse back against the bed and roar for a good long time.

“Merlin, Neville,” Harry says finally. “If Ginny gave you _that_ , then you really are a lucky bloody bastard.”

“I am,” Neville says, thinking himself lucky twice—three times. _Dense as root and walnutty, acorny, bitter like…_

“And that… that thing you did with your wand? Did Ginny—?”

“No. Susan.” _Pressing up against him from behind, mountains of…_

“Oh,” Harry says, voice low again. “Bloody hell.”

“She and I… She does me sometimes that way. It… It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Harry’s face is suddenly serious. “Neville.”

“I mean, not that I—” Neville finds that he’s feeling naked himself, though Harry’s the one with no trousers.

“No, Neville, bloody hell, it’s just…” Harry’s hands, thin and scarred, scrub at his face. “Susan.”

“Susan?”

“You and Susan. I appreciate, so much—you guys have been like a lifeline between me and Ginny, and Merlin, I’ve needed that so much.” Green eyes are focused on Neville’s knees.

“It’s our pleasure, Harry, we want to.” _I find, um, strong people really, you know…_ “We… We like to.” Susan lounging in bed, bum red and sticky, bitter scent of… Behind him. In him. Hand on him… _Oh, Harry, Harry!_

Harry gives Neville’s knee a sad smile and then shakes his head. “I know, Neville. I mean, thank you. And… I guess I understand. But it needs to stop.”

“Stop?” Suddenly Neville feels a burl of ice in his belly. His cock, which has stayed hard through all of this, flags. “I’m s-sorry, Harry, I didn’t—”

Harry stops him with a kiss; the sour scent of fear and panic are now overlaid with another, muskier smell. Cold and heat war in Neville’s middle. “Neville, no. You were… great.”

Neville shivers at the compliment and at the certainty that there is something yet to come.

“Neville, I know you and Susan think of me and Ginny as these big heroes, that you like to, you know, help us, because you think we’re somehow special, but Neville, _you’re_ special. You and Susan. You’re as important to this fight as me and Ginny or Ron and Hermione or Luna and… And Teddy Nott. Or anyone. _You’re_ heroes, every bit as much as we are, and it’s wrong that you’re doing this for us when you should be there for each other.”

“Harry, honest, we don’t—”

“ _I_ mind, Neville.” Harry rests his hand. “Ginny and I will be okay—lovers have stayed apart before now. Even if we never—”

“Harry, you will—”

Harry squeezes Neville’s thigh hard. “Neville. Listen. This circle, it’s been wonderful, it’s kept me sane, but…” He takes a long, deep breath, his fingers still pressing into Neville’s leg. “But it’s time to close it.”

“Oh.” Neville knows that he shouldn’t feel disappointed, but he does. “Okay.”

Harry nods, but does not let go. “You’ve done so much for me and Ginny, you two, it isn’t…” He is silent for a long moment, but Neville doesn’t feel capable of moving, of saying anything, and so he waits for Harry to continue. “Neville?”

“Er, yeah?”

“That… that thing you did with your wand.” The hair on Harry’s arm bristles, and Neville shivers in sympathy. “You… Did you say Susan… does you that way sometimes?”

“Oh. Yeah.” _Oh, Harry! Harry!_ Her hand on his cock, pressed up behind him, wand strapped to her like… pressed up into him, _OH!_ “Yeah.”

“It feels… good?” Harry bites at his lip, his eyes now on his hand.

“Um, yeah, she expands her wand and she has this… thing. That holds it. And there’s a spell or two that help, but Merlin—” _Does he want—?_

“Yeah,” Harry’s hand releases Neville’s thigh, and deliberately, intently shifts to rest lightly over the distended front of his trousers. “I… We can close the circle. I want to give _you_ something. Something for you, for what you’ve given us. And if you want to give it to Susan—”

“Harry. I. You want to?” gulps Neville. _Hands and knees, Harry_ in _, hand around my cock, fucking—_

“For you, Neville.” He nods, lip still white between his teeth. “And for Susan. Sure. Anything.”

Neville finds himself kissing Harry, and there’s no game to it this time, no _Just like this._ It is a kiss. Neville’s hand finds its way between Harry’s naked thighs, stroking testicles—warm and tight, like chestnuts from Uncle Algie’s hearth—and then moist, stiffening cock, and Neville feels as if an early summer breeze is wafting through him, he is so full, so light…

Harry’s hand scrabbles at Neville’s fly. “Budge up,” Harry says, and they both laugh. One last peck on dry lips and Neville stands and sheds it all—crumpled robes, shirt, trousers, boxers, socks and shoes—and then sits back on the bed, naked but for his wand. Harry too has shucked the last of his clothing, and with a thrill Neville realizes that he has never seen Harry this way—not even in the showers or the dormitories. He has never felt more terrified or excited; well, perhaps that first time at the Rose and Thorn with Susan—but then at least he knew she really…

“Bloody hell,” whispers Harry hoarsely, sitting beside Neville, his eyes focused on the cock that is poking at the flesh above Neville’s navel.

“What? Oh. Yeah. It’s kind of long, I guess. Susan says I fit my name.” Before he can start to feel terror knot his insides again, he reaches up and strokes Harry’s again. _Hands and knees—Oh! Harry!_ “Yours is really nice.”

“Heh,” laughs Harry absentmindedly. He reaches out and circles Neville with his hand, runs his fist down the length and back up again, one long stroke. _Oh._ They sit side by side, each gently wanking the other. “Feels different, you know?” Harry says. “And the same—doing you.”

“Yeah,” Neville says, and if this is all Harry wants to do, that’s okay with him, though… _Oh!_ “Susan… The spell…” Neville starts to cast the spell on Harry, but Harry stops him.

“On you,” Harry says.

“Me?”

Harry nods. “Please,”

“Okay.” Thinking he just wants a demonstration, Neville casts one of the lubrication charms on himself. “ _Glissare_.” Beneath Harry’s fingers, Neville’s cock suddenly loses most of its friction. Without any loss of touch, Harry’s hand glides down and back up again, and Neville groans. His head falls back and a sound comes from his throat that Neville did not think himself capable of producing.

He feels Harry shifting in his hand—moving towards… “Harry?”

Harry swings a leg across Neville’s waist and looks down at him, fierce and soft and...

_What—?_ “Harry?”

“Closing the circle.” He reaches behind himself, grasps Neville’s cock, and begins to lower himself onto it.

Neville’s vision swims as he feels his head press between the cheeks of Harry’s arse. He’s never, not once, ever— “Are you sure? Really? Harry?”

“No!” Harry laughs, and Neville can feel the laughter squeezing him, can feel that he’s pressing against Harry’s bum. “But I want to… to, you know…”

“Close the circle.”

“Yeah,” says Harry. He closes his eyes and presses down onto Neville. Grimacing, he says, “Damn.”

_Susan behind me, above me, **in** me, Engorgio, leather holding her wand, buckles against… _“Um, if you just… push down? Open up?”

Harry pushes again, harder. “Hurts.”

_Stop?_ “Um… try to relax.” Neville strokes Harry’s softening penis.

“I… okay,” Harry grunts. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and— “ _AH!_ ”

“Stop. Stop, Harry. Wait.” Harry freezes, and Neville reaches up and strokes Harry’s chest. “I think… You can do me?”

Shaking his head, Harry murmurs, “No, no, Neville. I want… It’s just, you know—”

_Hard. Scary._ “Yeah,” Neville says and suddenly the picture in his mind shifts. _Hands and knees, her hand on my cock, her wand…_ He blinks as another memory pops into his fertile brain. _Folded together, on our sides, like…_ _Close the circle_. “Maybe… It’s easier if you’re not doing the work, you see. If you’re not on top. To relax.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and then frowns.

Neville lifts Harry’s hips, and they both groan as Neville’s cock slips out from between Harry’s cheeks. Harry swings his leg back over, and they’re seated side by side, back to where they started.

Only not.

“So.” Harry says, frowning but trusting. He shifts his gaze and his weight away from Neville, tentatively rolling onto his knees, leaning forward… _Susan, too-small green knickers, bum red—SMACK_. Harry looks back over his shoulder “Like… like this?” Harry’s bum is already pink from the first attempt; his back is lean and sinuous as whipvine. It is nothing like Susan’s back, but it is a back, for all that Harry’s bollocks sway between…

Again the picture shifts in Neville’s brain, and he knows. “I want to see you,” Neville murmurs. “Lie on your back. I want to be close to you.”

Harry smiles, a bit perplexed—almost a Luna smile. “Okay.” He shifts again, and his cock, half-stiff and glistening, juts skyward; Neville reaches out and strokes it, evoking a moan from Harry, who falls back onto the bed, eyes closed. “Oh, fuck.”

_Yes_. “Just relax, Harry,” murmurs Neville, and the feeling of Harry’s cock, slick and heavy in his hand, fills Neville with a strange, exalted feeling, as if he were holding some mighty weapon, a magical staff so powerful that it could make even Neville Longbottom a wizard to be reckoned with. Snorting, he kisses the inside of Harry’s thigh. _A powerful weapon indeed._ Neville’s mouth slowly finds its way up the downy, intimate bit of flesh leading along the inside of Harry’s leg to his testicles.

Loose-limbed, Harry groans as Neville begins to tongue his balls, his cock stiffening in Neville’s hand. Sucking one chestnut-hot testicle into his mouth, Neville moans in response; beneath him his own cock is stiff, insistent, urging him…

“N-neville?” asks Harry. “I… I thought…?”

“Shhh…” Neville urges. “Just relax. Trust me.” Then he sucks the other testicle into his mouth and Harry falls limp again.

_What is he thinking_? wonders Neville. _Is he thinking about me? Or is he thinking about Ginny, or…?_ Neville’s free hand slides up beneath him, beneath his chin— _Susan, I’ve done like this, finger or wand, cunt open and sticky as a Tentacula flower …_

Harry stiffens again as Neville’s finger slides up between his cheeks.

“Shhhh,” repeats Neville, running his lips along the strip of flesh beneath Harry’s balls. The hand working Harry’s cock continued, needing no spell but Harry’s own arousal to make its surface frictionless. The other hand…

Neville’s fingertip finds Harry’s arsehole, stroking it gently, and Harry hisses, the muscles squeezing either side of Neville’s hand and then softening even as his back arches and his cock twitches.

Balls feel funny in Neville’s mouth, fuzzy and loosening now, the skin softening.

Neville sucks both testicles in, and Harry groans. Left hand strokes. Right circles.

_Susan, behind. Mountains of all…_

Releasing the warm, melting chestnuts from his mouth, Neville murmurs, “On your side, Harry.” _Rude, Neville. Be polite. Be…_

Harry obeys, limp. Neville picks up his wand and sits back for a second, the taste of sweat salt-sweet in his mouth. Staring at naked Harry Potter. Bruises on his back. Muscles like vines. Cock peaking out from a sharp hipbone: the color of dianthus, just. At ease. Vulnerable. After a moment, Harry stares back over his shoulder, and smiles, a small, un-Harry-like smile. “Okay, Neville?”

“Yeah,” answers Neville and lies down behind him. Neville’s own erection bounces between Harry’s bum cheeks, still spell-slick, and Neville flinches. _Rude, Neville. Be polite._ Rolling what Susan likes to call his _longbottom_ away from its intended target to give himself some room, he snuggles his chest up against Harry’s angular back even so.

Neville can feel Harry tensing again, to ask something perhaps, but Neville can only do one thing at a time just now. Carefully, quietly, he casts a series of charms that he and Susan have been practicing on each other quite a lot of late—left-handed, non-verbal: one to relax the muscles, one to decrease the discomfort (without dulling the pleasure) and a variation on the same Lubrication Charm as before, only this time on the entrance to Harry’s bum.

Neville’s right arm has found its way under Harry’s head of its own accord. That hand is stroking Harry’s chest, which is rising and falling evenly now.

“I…” Neville murmurs into the back of Harry’s neck. “Relax,” he says for what feels like the thirtieth time. There is no need. Harry is as relaxed as a fully aroused man can be. A spell to slicken the wand itself…

“This is my wand, Harry,” Neville murmurs calmingly—calming Harry, calming himself. Hearing Susan’s words leaving his mouth. “Just like before, remember? It was nice, right?”

Harry’s bum doesn’t clench this time, but as the tip slides through, Neville feels their breathing stop together.

“Okay?” Neville asks.

Harry just grunts; the wand slips effortlessly in, and breath begins again.

Running his hand down Harry’s taut belly, so unlike Susan’s, Neville is surprised for a moment to find a mound of springy curls just like hers. But then something Susan never sported, not without leather straps and buckles…

Neville turns and pushes his wand as his hand closes on Harry’s erection and Neville revels in the feeling of the groan humming between Harry’s back and Neville’s own pale, soft chest.

“Okay,” Neville says, forcing his voice to stay even, his pelvis immobile against Harry’s back. “Going to expand my wand just a titch. Just breathe.” He whispers _Engorgio_ , twisting the wand just _so_ , and it swells to perhaps half again as wide. “Okay?”

Harry nods against Neville’s bicep. Neville turns and pushes, and Harry’s breath is hot on Neville’s arm.

After a few moments, Neville casts the charm on the wand again, and as he turns it, he begins to withdraw it; Harry gives a low sound—a whimper—and Neville finds himself grinning as he strokes Harry’s now-softening penis. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, and gently thrusts the enlarged wand back in.

Softly, carefully, he fucks Harry’s arse with wand; not as big as his cock yet, but closer. “Feel good?”

“ _Fuck._ ”

Hearing that word, that sound issuing from Harry—that seals it for Neville. He casts a last Engorgement Charm, feeling his wand swell one last time. Thick now, it is not as easy to move in Harry’s bum as before; he could have waited but he doesn’t. He continues to move the fat, wooden phallus, continues to fondle and squeeze the now-flaccid penis and balls.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

_Oh, yes._ Neville’s cock is pressing against Harry’s back; the cherrywood of his wand slides along its length and over his balls and Neville has to bite back a groan of his own. “Going… Going to take it out now, Harry, okay?”

Another whimper tickles the inside of Neville’s arm, but he does not wait. Turning, pulling smoothly, he removes the wand, drops it behind him, and takes a warmer, thicker shaft, still spell-slick, in his fist. Harry’s breathing is quick and light and so is Neville’s own; his cockhead presses against Harry’s bum, distended now and welcoming.

Yet for a moment, Neville hesitates.

“Do it,” whispers Harry, his hand reaching back and pulling Neville closer.

Holding his breath as though he were diving into the ocean, Neville thrusts.

The feeling as Neville slips into Harry’s arse is amazing—different from Susan, cunt or arse, who’s so much softer, but this is just as hot and so _tight_.

Harry’s eyes are screwed tight in a grimace.

Neville’s cock is only just into Harry, but he is frozen. “You okay?” _He could do me, or—_

“ _Fine_ ,” Harry grunts. “I mean, it feels kind of good, like the wand, but _fuck_ you’re big!”

“Yeah,” says Neville, feeling suddenly shy, “Ginny said the same.”

Harry’s eyes flash open.

“Just, you know, when she gave me the blow job to give you, I think it was hard for her mouth.” It takes all of Neville’s discipline not to start thrusting up into Harry. “Maybe I’m too big for you?”

“No,” Harry says, pushing himself back, and Neville groans; the last thing in the world that he wants is to hurt Harry, but the next to last is to stop. “Just… You and Susan do this, right?”

“Yeah,” moans Neville.

Neville withdraws a bit and then—as gently as he can—thrusts in again. Harry arches against Neville and howls. Neville freezes. “Harry?”

“ _Don’t stop_ ,” Harry moans. “ _FUCK! I can see why…_ ” He shakes his head and laughs. “Fuck, Neville, feels bloody amazing.”

“Yeah.” Neville grins. “Doesn’t it?” Neville leans against Harry, and slowly—as gently as he can—begins to fuck the Boy Who Lived.

They are both sweat-slick within minutes, the sound of their flesh slapping filling the small room. The taut curve of Harry’s bum rebounds firmly against Neville’s hips as they slam against it—not jiggling, like… Harry arches, his bony shoulder against Neville’s chest, but there is no pain in his face now. “Bloody hell, Neville,” he laughs.

“Always… said… I was… right behind you,” grunts Neville.

“Huh! Didn’t… think you meant it _this_ way!”

“Didn’t!” Neville isn’t joking now; he slows his thrusts. “Never thought…” _Never dreamed!_ “Would do anything. For you, Harry. Anything.”

“You have done,” says Harry, turning his head to give Neville an awkward, bumpy, incredibly sexy kiss. “You have done, Neville. Everything. And more.” Then he lifts his upper leg back over Neville’s and his long fingers reach beneath, between, finding Neville’s bollocks, and the feeling is like… Like nothing.

“Harry!” moans Neville, trying to stop the avalanche. “ _Fuck_!”

“S’okay, s’okay,” Harry whispers—glasses long gone, and he kisses Neville again, sharp tongue dancing, and that’s all that Neville can take. He empties himself into Harry—it feels as if every thought or feeling or old fear explodes out of Neville and into Harry, and Neville howls, and howls, and collapses.

“Oh, Merlin,” Neville cries, “Harry, Merlin, I love you.” He collapses against Harry; Harry pulls Neville close around him, arms and legs.

“Love you too,” murmurs Harry into Neville’s ear, and Neville knows that Harry is saying it just to him.

Two soft gasps tell him that others know it too.


	5. Epilogue - Debriefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Debriefing_ — n** : An interview in which a field agent reports to his/her handler on an event or mission after it has ended. “After the blown assignment, the agent received a thorough debriefing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the finale to Dead Drop—fairly tame in comparison to all that has gone before, but satisfying, I hope. ;-)
> 
> If "Blowback" was a bit outside your comfort zone... this shouldn't be. ;-)
> 
> Thanks, thanks, thanks to aberforths_rug and to joesther for the beta—and to everyone else for the patience. [This fic took over two years to complete.]

> **_Debriefing_ — n** : An interview in which a field agent reports to his/her handler on an event or mission after it has ended. “After the blown assignment, the agent received a thorough debriefing.”

The sight before Ginny is so amazing—Neville and Harry with their faces sex-slack, red and slick with sweat, naked bodies spooned together—that she isn’t aware of having made a sound, but she must have. Or Susan must have. But suddenly the spell is broken and the wildest, most beautiful tableau that she has ever seen dissolves as the two boys become aware of them: disengaging, Harry covering himself, Neville falling off of the bed.

***

  
  


Susan bustles towards her boyfriend, clucking and cooing and kissing him and pulling him and his clothes to her. _I need to get him home before they have a chance…_. “We’ll see you back at the castle,” Susan says, demure as she was always taught to be, and hands Neville his coin. _Hazel eyes… Oh, Neville, you gorgeous, naughty…_

She sees him smile, and her center—her _cunt_ —warms, knowing that he expects to be properly rewarded tonight. _Oh, yes…_

***

  
  


Neville and Susan kiss and then disappear in a flash. Literally.

Curled up naked on the mangy brown covers of the mangy little inn bed, the sensation of Neville’s flesh still cooling on him, _in_ him, Harry blinks, expecting the blurry face across the room that he has so longed to see to disappear as well.

It doesn’t.

Hand shaking, he reaches out to where he thinks he dropped his glasses, but he can’t find them.

They are placed in his fingers. “Here,” says a voice— _her_ voice—and he is crying, in spite of everything. _No point in putting them on now…_

“You… you made it,” he says, and he knows his lip is trembling, and he feels humiliated, but he doesn’t honestly care. _She came._ “Scrimgeour? And… the coins?”

“Susan’s mum showed up,” Ginny answers, and he can hear moistness in her voice too, even as there is a laugh. “Bloody brilliant. Told Scrimgeour that she’d given us the coins for our protection, that they were her invention, and didn’t belong to the Ministry, and if they didn’t think the safety of her daughter and the other students was worth such a device, then she would have to find some purchaser—or government—that would. I suggested that George and Fred might be interested, actually, and by that point the Minister was so turned around that Professor McGonagall just suggested we be given our coins back and invited him up for a nice firewhisky, which he happily accepted.”

“I bet!” chuckles Harry, and it feels so, so good to laugh with her. To… “Hi.”

“Hi.” She touches his foot—a touch so light that it’s barely there.

His foot springs back of its own volition. “I’m sorry. Sorry you had to see—”

“Don’t, Harry. It…” Even through tear-smudged glasses, he can see that her cheeks are flushed. “Seeing you and Neville was… lovely.”

“Lovely?” Harry tries to imagine how they looked there, Neville and he. Fucking. Fucked.

Ginny nods. Starts to say something. Stops.

“I’ve missed you,” he sighs.

“Missed you too.”

“Didn’t think…” He cannot look at her face now, and so he stares at one freckled hand, curled in her lap. “Thought I might never see you. And when Fred and George told us about the attack—”

“Fred and—?” Her other hand joins the first; together they worry. Then begin to blur.

“Didn’t know if you were hurt, and then you didn’t come. _Again_. And—”

“No, Harry, I’m okay, I’m—”

He nods, but it doesn’t stop the _feeling_. Wet, wet, wet. “Neville said. Said. But…”

“But you were worried. When I didn’t come.”

“Terrified.”

“I tried. Honest, Harry. Every time. Every time, I thought, _Nothing is going to stop us this time_ , but—”

“I know.” He can hear what she’s about to say, and he can’t stand it. “Don’t. We tried. Both. And we’re okay. We’re here.”

“Yeah,” Ginny says, her voice high and thin as his is low and turgid. “Yeah. I… I have something.” She reaches into a pocket and pulls out something shiny. A gold coin. A DA Galleon.

“Is that…?”

She nods. “Can’t be traced. Can get you in or out of Hogwarts. Can call us to you. Here.” She places the coin on the bedspread between them.

He picks it up and she taps it with her wand; a flare of blue light limns the edges briefly and heats his fingers, and he gasps.

“Set to you now. No one else can use it.” Her voice is still higher than its usual earthy rumble, still tremulous. “I can show you—”

She reaches out to the coin, but as soon as her fingers touch his, he drops the Galleon, grasping her hand instead.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So,” he says, trying to think of something to say to her; for so long now their conversations have been through coded messages in dead drops and proxy caresses. “You thought that was lovely? Me and Neville?”

“Uh-huh,” she says, and her fingers tighten around his. “Did you? Think it was lovely?”

“Erm…” He feels shy again, aware of the affects that Neville’s body had on his. “Yeah. Yeah. It was. Different. But yeah.”

She nods. “With Susan, it was that way too.”

He needs to say it, needs to know: “Yeah, but, you know, what I really wanted—”

“—was you, yeah,” she agrees, emphatically.

“But they… It was so nice, to have even that connection to you, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“And Susan. And Neville. They…”

“They enjoyed it so, didn’t they?”

“Yeah.” Hands clasped, they sit there. Harry thrills at the heat of her hand in his—of that much touch, after so much absence.

He can’t tell which of them moves first, but soon she is in his lap, fully clothed against his nakedness, legs wrapped around his waist. Lips on lips. Her small, curved chest against his thin, angular one. Perfect.

Without any conscious action on either of their parts, her clothes begin to disappear, and Harry welcomes each new freckle, each rediscovered patch of pink with a kiss, a caress, as all the while she explores him, reclaiming him.

Her tights miraculously absent themselves, and the skin of her thighs is smooth and hot against his hips, a toe strokes down the length of his bum. “I could…” she pants, “if you liked… Susan… I could fuck—”

“Just us,” he says. “Just together.”

“Yeah.” Her knickers suddenly move aside, and his cock finds itself at the entrance to the only port it has ever sought. She lowers herself onto him. “Those two. Wild.”

“Yeah,” Harry groans, and they begin to rock together. “We’re too boring. Can’t keep up with them. Just want you. Just want this.”

“Me. Too.”

They do not speak again for some time, and yet the communication never stops. When at last the long conversation reaches a pause, both of their voices are low.

“Well,” Ginny purrs against his chest, “I can honestly say that I’ve been properly debriefed.”

Harry laughs, and then squeezes her tight. “Not letting you go again.”

“Silly,” she says, though she doesn’t sound as though she’s joking now, “didn’t this whole thing prove it? Even when we’re apart, we’re together.”

He considers this. “Maybe, but I’m a simple bloke. I like it like this best.”

“Me too.” She moves against him and they both shiver. “No go-betweens. No dead drops.”

“’s why I asked Neville to, you know…”

“Fuck your arse?”

“Uh. Yeah.” Neville. Susan. Merlin knows what _they’re_ up to… “Wanted to make an end of it, you know? No more of them acting like house elves.”

“Think they like acting like house elves,” Ginny murmurs into the corner of his jaw.

“Yeah. But… I don’t like acting the lord and master, you know? I just want to be me. And you.”

“Perfect equals.”

“Something like that.” Experimentally, he lets a finger run down her spine, along the split of her bum. She does not flinch.

“Poor Susan and Neville.” She mirrors his action, and sore as he is, he can feel his flesh respond.

“They’ll be okay.”

“Maybe,” Ginny says, as they both explore, “when all of this is over….”

“A long time after.”

“When we’re bored and tired…”

“Like _that’s_ ever going to happen.”

“We can play with them again. Just for fun.”

“Maybe,” Harry says, sliding into her as her finger slides into him. “Maybe. But for now…”

“Mission accomplished.”

“Mission accomplished.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thus endeth Dead Drop, definitely a journey I hadn't meant to take, but definitely one I'm glad I did. I hope you enjoyed the ride!


End file.
